Lend a Hand
by Mike83
Summary: Merle's story after he gets off the rooftop. Merle/OC and eventually the rest of the cast we all know and love! This won't follow the show's storyline directly or the graphic novel's storyline but it will have elements from both. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

Sinclaire Lewis had her eye on a box truck. She wanted to get the hell out of Atlanta and she wanted to do it _yesterday_. It was pretty much how she'd always felt about the city, but now that it was crawling with zombies, it had even less to recommend it.

She was crouched behind a concrete pillar, catching her breath and gearing up for the run across when she saw a man stumble toward the truck. She aimed for his head, but she jerked the gun up when he leaned against the door, fumbling weakly for the door handle. Not one of them; also decidedly not in any condition to drive if that was what he was planning to do. She ran toward him.

He swung for her jaw awkwardly with his left hand; she ducked easily.

"Now that's just not polite," she chided, catching him as he staggered and exhaling sharply when his weight pressed her roughly against the hot metal of the truck.

He mumbled something, but she didn't catch anything except the word "Yankee." She grinned and pushed back against his shoulders, hauling him as close to upright as he was going to get. He was clearly in shock and she didn't blame him; his right hand was totally gone. The wound was so fresh she could still smell blood. Blood and char, he'd cauterized it somehow. She maneuvered him into the truck, pleased to find that the keys were in it and that it had nearly a full tank.

Sinclaire shifted into drive and hit the road as fast as she could. The man beside her was muttering faintly and she couldn't stop a grimace when she really looked at the stump his right forearm ended in. That had to have been agonizing; she wondered why he'd done it. She hoped he wasn't infected. She checked her clip as she steered around the cars in the road. If he was, she'd do what she had to. She really hoped he wasn't though. He seemed to have the balls a person needed to survive in this new world.

She stopped the truck at her old hideout, backing up to the door and looking around carefully before getting out.

"Where ya headed Yank?" the man slurred.

"I'm going to get my supplies," she answered in surprise; she'd thought he was out cold. "Just stay there."

"I gotta get a move on," the man continued with a brief laugh. "I got cocktails at 8."

She snorted and ducked into the house she'd been using as a base for the past week. All of her things were packed so she could be mobile just as soon as she needed to be. Sinclaire flung the dark green backpacks into the box truck, and grabbed a bottle of water and the first aid kit. She was heading back around to the driver's side when her suspicion that this hideout was no longer safe was confirmed in the least pleasant way. Ten or so zombies were pushing their way through the side window, the one she hadn't been able to brace properly. She shoved the gun bag into the truck and jumped up, rolling the door down and walking through the back of the truck, climbing over the seatback. She was going to give the man the bottle of water, but this time he was out. She shoved him to the side and drove away.

When Merle woke up his neck was killing him. He was lying scrunched up against the truck door, so he wasn't surprised.

"Damn it Daryl," he muttered, sitting up. "I've fuckin' told you…"

"Sorry, not Daryl," a woman's voice spoke dryly. "Is she your…"

"He ain't a she," Merle said indignantly. "He's my brother."

"Is he heavy?" she muttered to herself with a half grin.

"What?" Merle moved to rub his face with his hands, then he realized he couldn't do that anymore. "Fuck me."

"I'm sure that's a colloquialism, but I'll pass. Sorry about your hand," Sinclaire said, glancing at him. "How'd it happen?"

Merle figured he wasn't hallucinating because she'd said colloquialism and he didn't know what the fuck that meant.

"How'd it happen?" he thought back. It was a hazy memory. "I remember handcuffs…"

"Kinky," Sinclaire wriggled her eyebrows.

Merle barked out a laugh, "Considerin' it was a guy that cuffed me not so much."

"Someone cuffed you on purpose? Left you for zombie bait?"

"Yeah," he decided she didn't need to know the details. His mind was clearer without the coke, but it'd be fuzzy as hell in a few hours. Addiction was a bitch. He patted his pockets, then cussed a blue streak when he remembered that self righteous cop throwing it off the damn roof. He was gonna put his foot so far up that bastard's ass…it occurred to him that they were moving. "Hey. Hey wait a second. Where the hell we goin'?"

"Away from Atlanta," the woman answered. "I've always hated that city."

"Yeah, you and me both," he swallowed, his throat so dry he coughed.

"Oh! Here," she handed him a bottle of water.

He reached to twist of the cap and cussed again. She snagged the bottle back and twisted the lid free, then handed him two pills from her knapsack while she drove with her knee.

"Those are some impressive epithets," she gave him a grin as she spoke.

"The fuck does that mean?" he asked.

"Means you cuss good," she drawled.

"Damn Yankee."

"Saved your ass though."

"Yeah sweetheart you sure did. But you gotta get me back there. My brother's gonna lose his shit when they come back without me," Merle said.

"Your brother Daryl?" she asked.

"Yeah and I'm gonna tell him you thought he was a chick. I'll get a kick outta the look on his face."

"He's younger than you isn't he?" Sinclaire guessed from the way Merle talked about him.

Merle nodded and tossed the pills back. It wouldn't touch the pain, but it might dull the craving. No sense in giving away all his secrets.

"And he'll be worried about you?"

"I'm tellin' ya, he'll lose it. Daryl don't take surprises well," Merle rested his head against the seat. "We shoulda headed east from the truck."

"Headed west," Sinclaire said with a sigh. "You weren't much help you know. All you've done is mutter weird shit about hookers and cocaine."

"Goddamn. You serious?"

"Yep. Hey I don't care what you used to do. I'm assuming you're out of the good stuff and I'm not a hooker, just in case you were wondering. I don't plan to have any problems out of you. And if you try anything you'll regret it," she gave him a smile, but damn if she didn't sound sincere.

"I outweigh you," he said; mostly just to see what she'd say.

She shrugged, "I'm combat trained."

"Me too."

"Yeah? Then I wouldn't be surprised if I outrank you."

"Me neither, Yank."

"My name is Sinclaire," she informed him. "Sinclaire Lewis." She figured he wouldn't get the symbolism and she wasn't disappointed.

"Merle Dixon. I'd shake your hand but…"

"You don't seem like the polite type to me anyway," she said, when his face twisted into an expression bordering on the shock she'd seen when she met him. "And you should rest; you lost a lot of blood."

"Not too much," he replied. "Got it cauterized real fast. Hurt like a bitch."

"I'm not surprised. The person who left you on the roof…would he be with your brother?"

"Don't know. He might be dead. City's packed with those bastard's. Wouldn't bother me if him and all the rest bit it. Daryl's the only one I give a damn about."

"Aw. Brotherly love. Daryl's a lucky fellow," Sinclaire downshifted and brought the van to a stop. "I'm sleepy. Mind if we stop here for the night? Catch some sleep and go find your brother in the morning?"

"Can't see the harm," Merle agreed. "You gonna cuddle up with me and make me feel all better?"

"Fat chance, but nice try. I'll give you the front. Want any more painkillers?"

"What you got ain't strong enough sweetheart," Merle clenched his teeth as pain throbbed through his entire body. He wouldn't have thought losing such a small body part would matter so damn much, or hurt so damn bad. He wondered what Daryl had said about them coming back without him.


	2. Chapter 2

After a hot night in the back of the truck, Sinclaire was more than ready to hit the road. Her passenger was grumpy because, as he put it, "He had to piss like a racehorse," and he couldn't manage the intricacies of his belt buckle one handed.

"This is a new level of awkward," she muttered, looking away while she fumbled with his belt buckle.

"Well now don't be nervous," Merle drawled looking down at her. "I'm sure it ain't your first time."

"This is just such a special moment," Sinclaire muttered. "Zipper too I imagine?"

"Can't do much with it up. You're gonna have to…"

"I know. Yell when you're done."

"I'll give ya a holler," Merle assured her. "Might take me awhile. This is a more of a two-handed job."

She chuckled and walked around the side of the truck while she waited. Rearranging his jeans wasn't as awkward, maybe because she managed to think about something other than how close her fingers were to his crotch.

"So we hit the road," she said in a businesslike tone. "Head east, find your camp. Find your brother. Then what?"

"I put my boot up Rick Grimes ass."

"What you do to other men's asses is none of my concern," Sinclaire said with a grin. "If you want vengeance, do it on your own time and after I've hit the road."

"Whatcha hittin' the road in?"

"This," she gestured at the box truck. "And if we're going to argue over it…"

"Nah, we ain't. I got a bike back at camp. Far as I'm concerned this old thing's yours if ya want it. Not my style," Merle finished up.

"Image during an apocalypse is _so_ important," Sinclaire agreed. "So…your brother. Besides having a girl's name…what's he like?"

"I don't know," Merle couldn't figure out what she was getting at. "He's just a guy. Nothin' special I don't reckon."

"One avenue of conversation down the tubes. I _unzipped_ you. You should at least answer my questions."

"What you wanna know? What he looks like? What he acts like? What the hell you want from me?"

"Don't get all in a twist about it. He's younger you said. How much younger?"

"He's 35, I'm 41, his birthday's in October and he's a bow hunter," Merle continued.

"A bow hunter? Talk about apocalypse advantages," she raised her eyebrows. "Better than my silencers by a mile or two."

"Yeah, he was awful damn smug about it when he found out about noise drawin' 'em too. I don't know what else to tell ya…he's kinda blonde, blue eyes, a little short if ya ask me…"

Sinclaire laughed and said, "Well, I look forward to meeting the smug bow hunter."

"No ya don't," Merle shook his head. "Daryl's awful with people. Especially women. Especially hot women."

"You think I'm hot?"

"Everything but the damn Yankee accent."

It was true; in Merle's opinion the woman in the driver's seat was worth looking at for sure. She had chin length jagged cut brown hair and olive skin, big brown eyes and a very, very nice body.

"Eyes up," she said without taking her gaze off the road.

Her smile was sexy too. Possibilities there.

Merle directed her to the camp and Sinclaire watched in pity as the color drained from his face when he saw the wrecked site, the fresh graves, and the note.

"Merle…I'm so sorry," she put her hand on his shoulder; he shrugged her off.

"I guess now we'll have that argument about the box truck," Merle growled.

"Hey now," Sinclaire held up both hands. "I promised to get you back to your brother and I will. We don't have to argue about anything."

"Get me back to him?" Merle flung his left hand out at the freshly turned graves. "What the fuck makes you think that he ain't in one of them graves? I was stuck out there with you while my brother was bein' attacked by those bastards!"

"You wouldn't have made it back in time anyway. They moved out way before we even hit the road. It was your shock and blood loss that made me take this slowly," Sinclaire said, speaking quietly so that Merle was forced to lower his voice and listen. "There's only one way to find out if your brother is under that dirt."

Merle stared at her in disbelief.

"Ya gonna dig 'em up?"

"You know of a better way to prove who's six feet under and who's not?" she crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow.

She actually knew of a few ways, but she had pretty much figured this guy out. He and his bow-hunter brother apparently had one thing in common. They both lost their shit when things went awry. A shock like the idea of going grave digging should get him thinking more clearly. And if it didn't…well, Sinclaire wasn't afraid of the dead. Make that the non moving dead.

Merle ran his left hand over his head and stared at her in a combination of admiration and alarm.

"Lemme think for a second."

She nodded, leaning casually against the side of the box truck with her thumbs hooked into her belt.

"His truck's gone," Merle realized after a moment. "And my bike. I doubt they'd take 'em…gas shortages and shit. He's probably fine."

"We can always try to catch them," Sinclaire pointed out. "It can't be that hard to catch up. Should be pretty noticeable…a caravan like you're talking about."

"I guess I got no choice," he looked around the abandoned camp. Thinking about it, he was more than a little surprised that Daryl had left without him. For the first time since his brother was born, Merle had no idea where he was. It was an uncomfortable feeling. "Let's hit the road," he said gruffly. "No sense waitin' around for more of them fuckers to find this place."

"I whole heartedly agree," she raised the door on the truck and said, "I'm gonna gear up. I don't need an audience either."

Merle walked around and got in the front seat, casually tilting the side mirror. She'd stripped down to her underwear and she was stepping into a pair of camo fatigues. She tossed her head, shaking her hair out of her eyes as she buttoned them. Her stomach was flat and her ass was round; his palm actually itched to smack it. Different time and place and he would have, even though it was plain from the way she acted that he'd get the smack returned and it sure as fuck wouldn't be a love tap. She covered up those nice tits with a black tank top and he was afraid she was going to go even further, but she frowned at the flak jacket and left it alone. It was damn hot, especially in the back of the truck like she was.

She leaned over, her breasts pushed against the fabric of the tank as she tied her combat boots. He looked casually out the window because he figured she'd be headed up to the front after that, but when she didn't, he glanced back again. Apparently she wasn't finished.

Sinclair shrugged into her vest and buckled it tightly. Then she knelt on the floor of the van and gathered her ammo. Four pockets for pistol ammo, her M9 in the cross draw pocket, her other one in the shoulder pocket, three pockets for rifle ammo, the Mossberg rifle she'd found would be near her, behind Merle's seat in case she needed it, the silencers for the M9's and her knife in the extra pockets; she filled the hydration bladder with a bottle of water from one of the cases she'd stockpiled and stood up again, patting her pockets and going over the list again under her breath. She strapped another, longer hunting knife to her left leg and stepped up front.

"Ready to go?"

"Sure thing sweetheart," Merle looked at her. "Damn. You're ready for anything ain't ya?"

"Don't look so surprised. I saw you watching me get dressed," Sinclaire put the truck in reverse and negotiated a turn. "Put my mirror back where I had it by the way."

"So ya didn't mind?"

"If I didn't mind I wouldn't have told you I didn't need an audience," she sighed. "I had to think about ammunition and weaponry. I don't have time to waste on a peeping tom. Besides, I'm used to it with the Army and all."

Before he could comment on that she said, "Which way?"

"How the hell do I know?"

"No clues? No ideas? You lived with these people…where would they have headed?" she tapped the wheel impatiently.

"We wasn't exactly the best of pals," Merle held up his right hand, or rather his lack of one. "'Member this?"

"Okay so you don't know and neither do I. The question stands. Left or right?"

Merle thought for a moment. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate. He was so fucking tired!

"Left," he said after a long moment.

Sinclaire watched him slump against the passenger side door and dredged up everything she knew about cocaine withdrawal. Not much of it was pleasant. The one plus side was that the symptoms weren't usually physical. Hopefully she wouldn't have to worry about him hurling chunks in her nice new box truck or having the shakes at a bad moment and distracting her. Of course the downside was that the symptoms were mental; fatigue, which he was obviously feeling now, depression, which was not a good thing to add to the stress and worry of the already tense situation, and suspicion, which she did not need right now. Sinclaire eased one of her M9's out of its pocket slowly and put it under her left leg. She could shoot just as well with her left hand in case she needed to. She really hoped she didn't need it, but there was simply no way in hell she was going to survive this far to be killed by a (probably reluctantly) recovering addict.


	3. Chapter 3

After a while, Sinclaire pulled over and poked Merle in the shoulder.

"What?" he mumbled.

"We need to make a plan," she said, wondering if he was actually in any state of mind to do so.

"Thought we had a plan. Thought we was findin' the caravan."

"We are. But we can't just drive around this town yelling for Daryl. We need supplies, especially gasoline."

"Yeah well what the fuck you want me to do? Snap my damn fingers and…"

"No," Sinclaire cut him off, getting a squinty eyed look of irritation, not that she gave a damn. Sarcasm was her thing and she'd be damned if he'd poach on her territory. "I was part of the company that was supposed to hold the city. We had a shit-ton of stuff, fuel barrels, water, food. It was more than I could carry with me, but I'd bet it's still there. We could fit it in here."

"In Atlanta? With the fuckin' swarm of those things?"

"Two people might be able to get in and out. If I know you're up for it."

As she'd planned, the challenge had him sitting up straighter as he said, "Give me a gun sweetheart and I'll get ya whatever we need."

"Not yet," Sinclaire shook her head firmly.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because you're going through what withdrawal from what looks like a pretty damn serious cocaine addiction," she snapped, decided that she would play straight with him. "And I don't trust you with a gun. Can you even shoot left handed?"

"I bet I can," Merle snapped back.

"But you don't know and until you do, the guns stay with me."

Merle muttered something; Sinclaire shrugged. "Better a living cunt than a dead one. That's my motto."

He closed his eyes again, wondering what the hell the point to any of it was. Maybe he oughta just lay the fuck down and die. Daryl couldn't survive without him, not in a situation like this. Merle was sure of it. He'd always handled everything for Daryl.

"So, new plan," Sinclaire sounded determined. "We go and check out the former base."

"Might as well die with you as by myself," he muttered.

Was she doing this on purpose? Was she trying to get him killed? Why else would she be leading back to the city they'd just left? He thought about asking her, but another wave of exhaustion swept over him and he didn't bother.

She tried to think of the least direct route back to the base that wasn't blocked off. She was so busy worrying about it that she almost hit the car in the road. She gasped and turned the wheel, pushing the brakes just a bit harder than she should have, slinging Merle forward.

"The fuck?" he bellowed.

"People," she answered, pointing out the side window.

"I know them."

"They're part of the caravan?" she couldn't figure out why they were all alone if that was the case.

"Shoulda been," Merle opened his door and she followed him out.

A man sat with his back to a vehicle and his head in his hands.

"Morales?" Merle barked. "What the hell's your problem?"

The blood splattered over the back windows told Sinclaire all she needed to know.

"Bitten," the man said. "I thought it was wrong…I thought it was wrong of Rick to go…to head there…pointless. I did what I thought was right."

"Go where?"

The man ignored Merle's question, looking down at his bloody hands.

"It happened almost right away," he went on. "My wife…my daughters…I wasn't fast enough…" the man began to sob.

Merle saw red. Why the hell was he crying over what was done? Why wasn't he giving him the information he needed? Morales' family was dead as doornails, but he still had a chance to get back to his brother. Suspicion swelled up inside him again. Maybe they were all in this together. Maybe they were distracting him, keeping him from finding Daryl. He no longer wondered why it would happen. He just knew that it was happening.

"Listen you fuckin' spic!" he reached down and yanked Morales up, slamming him against the vehicle and holding him there. "You fuckin' tell me where they went or I swear to god I'll kill you right here!"

"Merle," Sinclaire kept her voice level, but it didn't work this time.

"Fuck you!" he yelled over his shoulder. "You're in on it all ain't ya Yank?"

"In on what?" she asked, edging closer, she recognized this as further symptoms of his withdrawal, but she wanted to keep him talking to her.

"I wish you would kill me," Morales interjected. "Go ahead! I wanted to kill myself but I couldn't goddamn do it! I can't pull the trigger! Do it redneck, finish it!"

"You fuckin' wetback sonofabitch!" Merle raised his hand and then his world went black.

Sinclaire watched him fall and figured she had a good bit of time before he woke up. She'd actually hit him a bit harder than she meant to, but the "wetback" comment had sort of pissed her off, even if it wasn't directed at her. The other man slumped back down too and she saw a long series of scratches down his arm.

Fuck. Was she dealing with _two_ delirious men? She knelt in front of the man Merle had referred to as Morales and eyed him for signs he was going to leap for her. He looked much too defeated though.

"I'm sorry about your family," she said honestly. "And Merle's a bastard. But we really need to know where the others went. I made him a promise. It's sort of my fault he and his brother are separated. Will you tell me…"

"The CDC," the man cut in. "The rest went to the CDC. Daryl flipped when Merle didn't come back."

"Yeah. The Dixon brothers don't seem to handle stress well," Sinclaire gave the man a smile. "That a zombie scratch?"

He looked at it and nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to turn…but I can't…I could kill them but I can't kill myself. What does that say about me?" He didn't wait for her to answer before he held his gun out. "Will you do it?"

Sinclaire rose without taking the gun, "I need help getting him into the truck. I'd rather do it while he's out cold."

"But…"

"Hey, you help me and I'll help you," she cut in.

They maneuvered Merle into the passenger seat and Sinclaire turned to Morales.

"You're sure?" she asked, spinning the silencer onto her M9. It wouldn't eliminate the noise, but it would help.

"Yeah," he scrunched his eyes shut.

"Second thought, will you get that other gun? I wouldn't mind having it," she said quickly.

"What?" he opened his eyes. "Oh. Yeah sure."

He turned to get the gun. Right before he bent to retrieve it she shot him in the head. It was better not to anticipate death.

With a sigh she got into the truck and headed into the city. The CDC. What the hell? It was bound to be overrun by now, just like this whole city, but she had made a promise. She didn't consider herself a girl scout or anything, but if a person still had family left, she didn't want to be the reason they were kept from it.


	4. Chapter 4

Sinclaire forced her hands to relax around the steering wheel after she realized that there was pain radiating up both arms from her grip. She glanced at her passenger and then pulled off the road. There was no sense in going on until she had someone capable of watching her back.

She stepped into the back of the truck even though it basically felt like an oven, and lay down on the sleeping bag she'd laid out there last night. She had a killer headache and she felt vaguely nauseous. She wondered how old Morales' daughters had been. She closed her eyes, even though she told herself firmly that she was not going to sleep.

"Hey."

The gruff voice broke into her dream and she jerked upright, pressing her hand to her head when the sudden movement only intensified the pain. She could tell by the sun, and the coating of sweat on her skin, that hours had passed.

"What?"

"Gotta piss."

"Sounds like a personal issue," she muttered, swallowing back the urge to throw up.

"The hell's your problem?" Merle stared at her as if her behavior was unfathomable.

"My head is killing me; I just shot a man and I'm stuck in a box truck with a racist jackass who wants me to unzip him!"

"Ya want me to piss in the truck?" Merle drawled.

"Fuck you," she stood up and snapped her fingers at him. "Let's go then."

"Don't fuckin' talk to me like a goddamn dog!"

"Oh? You don't like it? You don't like being treated like an inferior? Then maybe you should watch how you treat other people. Ever think about that?"

"You're givin' me a fuckin' lesson in manners? Don't ya think it's kinda late for that shit?"

"It's never too late. If you've always been like this I can understand why they left you on the damn roof!"

It was the wrong thing to say. His paranoia wasn't altogether relieved and her head was killing her and when he shoved the passenger side door open she yanked up the back door of the truck and met him at the side of it.

"Ya sayin' I fuckin' deserved this?" Merle yelled.

"I don't know! All I know is that you're a douchebag! You watched me change clothes! You yelled at a man who'd just had to eliminate his entire family! You…"

Her sentence ended when he slammed her against the side of the truck.

"Now you listen here Princess," he began.

"Don't fucking call me Princess!" Sinclaire drew her knee up quickly and forcefully, slamming it into his balls as hard as she could.

"Jesus," he groaned, stepping back.

She shoved him as hard as she could and he landed in the dirt.

"We clear on that?" she asked, standing over him. "Maybe we can get a few points of order together while you're down there…"

He reached out and grabbed her ankle with his left hand, yanking hard and throwing her onto her back. She kicked out with her other foot, connecting with the inside of his thigh, a kick that was slightly off target. He dragged her underneath him, holding her body down with his, bracing his right forearm over her neck, since he didn't have a hand to catch her around the throat with.

"You might want to rethink this," she gasped out.

He didn't have to ask why, she had one free hand and she'd used it to grab her knife. Her knife that was currently resting against the back of his neck. He eased back on the pressure, but he didn't let go.

"You're fuckin' fast," he remarked.

"Yeah well, so are you. Most people don't get me on the ground. You've got about ten seconds to let me up though."

"What happens if I don't?"

"You won't be making it back to your brother."

Merle eased his arm away from her throat, "I can't move much with that knife right there."

Sinclaire lowered the blade and he got to his knees in front of her. She sat up and they stared at each other for a long moment. She pushed her hands through her hair and sighed. At least she'd finally had a chance to utilize one of her best skills, hand to hand fighting. It wasn't exactly suited to this apocalypse.

"I am who I am," Merle said after a while. "I ain't gonna change."

"You might have to," she said. "I've had to do a lot of stuff I said I'd never…"

"And you think you're so much fuckin' better than me don't ya, Yank?" Merle drawled brutally. "I bet you've been a damn saint through this whole thing ain't ya?"

Sinclaire laughed. She covered her face with her hands and laughed until she wanted to cry.

"You havin' a breakdown?"

She could tell that he was trying to sound distant, but she heard worry creep through his voice.

"Can't do that can I?" she took her hands down from her face. "Who'd handle your zipper?"

"Yeah, well if ya don't soon, ain't gonna be no point," he pointed out.

She stood up and he joined her. As she dipped her head, focusing on his belt, she said, "I'm not holding myself over you. A saint is far from what I've been. But respect isn't optional. You respect me and I'll respect you and maybe we'll get through this."

"This is a fucked up conversation to be havin' while you're undressin' me."

"Yeah? Hookers don't have a spiel?"

"Yeah. But you get it before they get near your belt."

She shook her head and said, "You know the drill. Let me know if you need me. Zippers can be handled one handed you know."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"It might prove to me that you could handle a gun."

Merle frowned thoughtfully and nodded.

Sinclaire stepped up into the truck, digging through for something that might relieve her headache. She found some generic pain medicine and swallowed it dry, hoping for the best. A sudden spate of swearing several minutes later made her eyebrows go up.

"That my cue?"

"Motherfuckin' belt buckle!" Merle walked over to where she was sitting.

Sinclaire buckled him up and said, "Well, at least you got the zipper."

"And the button. That ain't the point." He sat down beside her. "It's like I'm fuckin' helpless."

He expected Sinclaire to say something comforting, something the average woman would say. Instead she just nodded in silence.

"Hell. That's it? Ya ain't gonna tell me I'm lucky to be alive? Ya ain't gonna tell me I'll learn to do shit one-handed? Ya ain't gonna…"

"Why should I?" she cut in. "It seems like you've been telling yourself all about it. I don't know if _anybody_ is lucky to be alive to be honest with you. And it's obvious that you can learn to live with one hand. People have in the past. I do think you should let me bandage it up though."

He nodded after a moment and held it out. She washed it off and disinfected the area, then wrapped it with clean gauze.

"Try not to get it dirty," she said with a sigh, leaning her head against the side of the truck.

"Still feelin' sick?"

"Yeah. I get migraines sometimes," she rubbed her forehead. "It doesn't help that it's 5000 degrees here."

"Feels like it," he agreed. "Might be better to pull the truck into the shade over there," he gestured to the tree line as he spoke. "Ya wouldn't make it in the city feelin' like ya look like ya feel."

"Think you could drive it over there?" she asked.

"Can't switch the gears."

"Fuck. Okay." she stood up and her stomach turned. Damn stress migraines and lack of medicine worth having. "Hang on."

Merle grimaced when she disappeared around the side of the truck, gagging. He hated puking, hated it when other people puked too. Daryl never seemed to care, which was weird in his opinion.

Sinclaire punched the side of the truck when she was done and then stood up straight, wiping the tears from her eyes. Merle hadn't come to check on her. She wasn't surprised. He didn't seem to be any more the nurturing type than she was. She moved the truck into the shade and they sat in the back, trying to get the cooler air into the hot inside of the truck.

"Ya could go on back to sleep," he said after watching her nearly doze off a few times. "The front's closed up and if I see any of those fuckers I can close up the back here."

"What if you go to sleep?" she asked. "I think it's cool enough. Why don't we just close up now? We'll hit Atlanta in the morning provided you don't kill me in my sleep."

"If that's how you want it."

Merle stood and closed the back of the truck. It had cooled down a lot and he moved to the front, rolling both front windows down just enough for a bit of a cross breeze. She was asleep by the time he got back.

He glanced down at her. She seemed to be really out. It must have been one motherfucker of a headache. He started to unroll the other sleeping bag he'd found in the corner by the driver's seat but then he had a better idea.

"Sinclaire?" he whispered.

She didn't move.

"Princess?" he tried that, a bit louder.

Nothing. He took her one of her M9's from her tactical vest and spun the silencer down on the barrel. He checked once more for signs that she was awake before rolling up the door and getting out of the truck.


	5. Chapter 5

"Why are you being so loud?" Sinclaire muttered into the long Georgia twilight.

Her headache was no longer brutally painful but it had reached that annoying level of pain that wasn't quite pain but more of a heavy tenderness.

The noise didn't stop, instead it moved and that was when it occurred to her that it wasn't a snore and it wasn't beside her. It was more of a growl and it was in front of her. Right where the roll door should have been.

There was a moment when she considered not opening her eyes. It _was_ better not to anticipate death. Then there was a moment of hope. Maybe Merle would handle it somehow. Then realization came, paralyzing in the fear and anger that came with it. The roll door was open; her M9 was gone. He'd left her.

She pushed herself back as the zombie lunged forward. It was the wrong move and she knew it even as she backed herself into a corner. Her heart was pounding in her ears and the only weapon near at hand was a long hunting knife that must belong to Merle because it wasn't hers.

She did not want to get blood borne pathogens on every supply she'd worked so hard to accumulate. Sinclaire grabbed the knife, cursed and stood up. The zombie took a clumsy swipe at her. She dodged and backed up, retracing her steps, heading toward the open door, baiting the thing. It took the bait readily, growling and following her.

It felt like it took a long time, but she managed to keep distance between it and her until she felt the edge of the truck bed under her boot. She jumped down and immediately realized her problems were bigger than she'd thought.

Apparently the zombie following her out of the truck was an intrepid fellow because there was an entire freaking swarm of them on the way.

"Fuck!" The word came out too loud and all the rest of the swarm turned eagerly her way, so she went on. The damage was done, so she vented at the top of her lungs. "Fuck you Merle Dixon!"

She switched her grip on the knife, raising it as the zombie moved within range, but she never struck the blow. A muffled noise a split second before the creature's brains spilled out of a hole in the left side of its head, drew her attention to the right.

"Told ya I bet I could shoot left handed," Merle bragged. "Now, get that sweet ass in the truck before the rest of those things get here!"

Sinclaire thought of a lot of things to say, but she recognized that now wasn't the time to say any of them. She leaped into the truck and he followed, yanking the door down.

"See?" he drawled. "Saved your ass didn't I?"

"Saved my ass? You're the reason I nearly died!"

"How ya figure that?"

"I "figure that" because you took my gun, you left the door open, and you left me asleep! If I hadn't woken up when I did that thing could have bitten me or scratched me or fucking killed me!"

"Yeah well, I wasn't ever that far away," Merle informed her. "And I figured you'd have the sense to yell for me if there was trouble. Instead all I get is "Fuck you Merle Dixon." what's that about?"

"I…" she decided not to bother. "Where were you?"

"Praticin' shootin'. Didn't need as much practice as I thought I might turns out."

"Practicing shooting? Do you think that might have had something to do with the hoard that has descended around us?" Sinclaire finished the sentence with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

"Might could," Merle agreed. "But I had to show ya I can still handle a gun didn't I? Hell I'd show ya the target if it wasn't for those fuckers."

Sinclaire jumped when she heard a cacophony of noise as zombie nails met the metal of the truck.

"This doesn't seem to be the time to talk about it," she said.

"Can I keep the gun?"

"No you can't keep the gun! It's my damn gun!"

"Yeah, but I'm kinda stuck with a handgun ain't I? Couldn't do much with that shotgun there and I ain't walkin' into a city full of them things with nothin' but a knife!"

"Fine!" she sighed as another spate of blows rained down on the truck. "You can borrow the gun. We'll see if we can find you one of your own at the base. Reload it while I drive."

He nodded like she owed him and she wanted very much to reintroduce her knee to his balls.

"And I will feel free to take it back if you can't handle your withdrawal," she reminded him.

"I've got all that shit under control," he replied insolently.

He wasn't doing a bad job of handling it actually, he just wished the cravings would fucking stop. The depressions were pretty easy to handle if he kept his mind on other stuff. He wasn't the type to sit around whimperin' like a bitch. Hadn't that been the reason he'd cut off his hand? So he didn't have to worry about waiting for someone to come along and fix shit for him?

He reloaded the gun carefully, surprised by the next thought that crossed his mind. He didn't mind the company of Sinclaire Lewis. She wasn't afraid of a good fight and he found a reluctant sort of respect growing for her. If he was a different sort of man, he might have considered apologizing for nearly getting her killed, because he knew he should have closed that door; he shrugged the thought away. She'd handled herself just fine.

Sinclaire drove toward Atlanta; there wasn't much point in waiting anymore. It was more likely that the city would get worse before it got better…if getting better was an option for this situation. She frankly didn't see that happening.

"You done with that gun yet?" she called impatiently.

"Yeah."

"Well then come up here. I need someone to bounce ideas off of."

He climbed into the front seat and looked at her.

"I thought we was goin' back to your base. Ya can't expect me to know much about that."

"No. But I can tell you that layout of the place and you can help me. You said you were military. Strategize with me."

"All right. Tell me about the place."

"It was an outpost, mostly just for supplies," she began. "My unit was stationed there, ferrying supplies. The building had been a kindergarten at one point, it was closed down. It's shaped like a capital "I", with a courtyard in the open part, where the playground was. There is one entrance in the middle, and four entrances at each end of the corridors. The front was closed off; we only used the three entrances in the back."

"We outta aim for the one in the middle," Merle said. "Then we could back the truck right up to the door."

She nodded and said, "And the fuel barrels…if they're still there…are in the courtyard right by that entrance. I just don't know if the place is overrun or not."

"Only one way to find out," he pointed out. "Where are the other supplies at?"

"Medical and the like are in the right wing rooms," she replied. "Food and water are in the left wing rooms."

"So we want it all? Or what?"

"Well, I don't know. Medical…we're doing okay. Most of the stuff there's just no point in taking. I'm not a nurse and I don't guess you are either," at his snort, she continued. "I guess I'm most worried about water, with the heat and all. And food. There were crates and crates of MRE's. I guess we should concentrate on the left if we can get to it. Ammo and weaponry was in the far left, in one of the back rooms. We need to get to that if it's at all possible."

"All right then. That's the plan. Get there. Load up fuel first, back up to the one door in the middle, fuck the right side, get to the left, water, MRE's, ammo and weaponry then book it the fuck out?"

"Yep," she agreed. "We fuel it up, maybe eat, head for the CDC."

"I wonder why they went there," Merle mused. "Seems kinda dumb to me. If they coulda fixed it don't ya think they woulda?"

"Yeah, I do," Sinclaire agreed. "Last we heard their situation wasn't any better than anybody else's. The pressure was really on them more than anyone for awhile you know. There were units sent just to handle the civilian panic at the place."

"I reckon so," he agreed. "People were goin' ape shit crazy where me and Daryl are from. Everything's worse in the big cities."

"Panic especially. People do crazy things…who knows? Maybe nobody at the CDC is even still alive," she pointed out.

"You ain't an optimist are ya?"

"Fuck no."

"Good," Merle gave her half a grin. "I'd hate to have to smack ya."

"I wouldn't be able to blame you if I came off all chipper. I'd smack myself." She pointed and said, "There it is."

"Think we outta do this at night?"

"I don't really see what difference it makes do you? We'll hear them and they'll smell us either way. And there should be some night vision stuff in there…if we get that far."

The truck rattled as she drove through the grass into the courtyard. There were about twenty zombies milling around and a few corpses more than half eaten with gaping head wounds and blood staining the grass around them. They all wore fatigues and Merle noticed that Sinclaire jerked her gaze away from them as quickly as she could.

"You said you outrank me," he said. "What were you?"

"Captain. This was my first command. You see how well it went."

So that was why she couldn't look. They'd been her men.

"Hell wasn't nothin' you coulda done," he surprised them both by saying. "Whole damn country went to shit. It wasn't just your company."

"Thanks," she tucked her hair behind her ears and said, "All right. The fuel barrels are over there. I wish we had another person to use as bait while we get the truck loaded…"

"You're one cold woman," he informed her.

"Well, not literal bait…more of a distraction. I don't think I can lift them, and…"

"And I've only got one hand," he frowned. "Ya a fast runner?"

"Reasonably. But…"

"Well, ya gotta be faster than them things. Lead 'em off in one direction, I can roll the barrels to the truck, swing back around and we'll load 'em in."

"That sounds insane! And I notice you aren't volunteering for the running."

"Do I look like a motherfuckin' runner?

"Point taken I guess. All right. If I die you're still pretty screwed though."

"That make you feel better?"

"Strangely enough it does," Sinclaire admitted.

She grabbed the shot gun and opened the door, then took a deep breath and ran toward the hoard. Their interest was immediately peaked. She weaved through easily, heading toward the small wooded area at the right of the school. When she was as deep into the woods as she could go, she let off a few shotgun blasts, drawing the rest.

Merle rolled a few barrels the trucks way and took care of the few zombies that didn't chase Sinclaire, figuring that was what the lazy bastards deserved. He tried to lift the fuel, but it was just too heavy and entirely the wrong shape to lift one handed. He was sure as fuck screwed if she didn't get back.

Sinclaire pivoted and bolted, putting on much more speed on her way back to the truck. Merle actually smiled when she skidded up to him.

"Let's do it!" she gasped.

The lifted together, shoving three barrels quickly into the truck. Well, relatively quickly. The barrels were 31.5 gallons of gas, so they weighed nearly 200 pounds apiece and Merle and Sinclaire were an awkward team with the uneven number of hands.

"Get the door," she said. "I'll back up to it. We're running out of time."

The zombies, realizing they'd been had, were shambling back toward them. Merle headed for the door, not surprised to find it locked. Now what? He personally would have been all for breaking the glass, but then what would keep the hoard out?

Sinclaire back up as tight to the door as she could and jumped out.

"Why are you just standing here?"

"It's locked."

"Well hell yes it's locked!" she snorted. "You don't know how to pick a lock?"

"Yeah. With my fuckin' right hand!"

"All right, all right! Make sure nothing gets me."

She set to work and a few minutes later the lock was open. The door however, remained firm.

"What the fuck?"

"You better goddamn figure it out!" Merle snapped. "If I get bit 'cause of your bad lock pickin' skills…"

"The lock is picked! It's just…"

Merle turned, rattled the doors experimentally and then drew his knife, handing her the gun. He shoved the knife through the crack in the door, jerked down quickly and shoved the doors open.

"Poor man's deadbolt," he explained as they went in, shutting and locking the door behind them, as he gestured to the plastic zip tie that had been around the door handles.

"Nicely done," she admitted, catching her breath. "Seems pretty quiet in here to me."

"Me too. And it don't really stink, like those fuckers do."

"Yeah. But I'm wondering if all the doors are locked from the inside like that," Sinclaire hadn't for one second thought of the possibility of survivors.

"Me too," Merle said again. "That'll mean you'll wanna bargain and shit."

"Well, let's check it out. See what we can see."

She led the way down the corridor, shining her flashlight into the corners and listening carefully. Merle was listening too and walking quieter than she would have given him credit for. In terms of being saddled with a one-handed survivor, she was surprised by the thought that she'd really lucked out.

Once they were in the left wing of the school, Sinclaire pushed a door open and shone her flashlight on what looked like a department store after a holiday markdown. The supplies were jumbled, picked over and strewn everywhere, but rather than tinsel and garland, it was crates of bottled water, MRE's, and even strangely enough, some medical supplies.

"Reckon people was makin' room in their packs," Merle whispered.

"Makes sense," Sinclaire agreed. She handed him one of the empty backpacks she'd brought and said, "We should try to get most of it in crates. The bandages and stuff can go in the backpacks. They're here; we might as well take them. If we get it in crates…"

"It'll be easier to stack it in the truck," he cut in. "I ain't stupid."

"I know. I just…talk when I'm freaked out I guess."

"You more freaked out now than you were outside?"

"It's crazy, but yes. I am. I know what those things want from me. I don't know if we're alone here."

She was reorganizing a crate of bottled water but her hands went still when a voice that didn't have even the slightest Southern accent wound through the room.

"You know now. You're not alone, Captain Lewis."


	6. Chapter 6

Merle swore and shone his flashlight into the face of a man in fatigues, standing in the doorway.

"Did you break my lock on the door?" he asked casually.

"No," Sinclaire answered. "I picked it. He cut the zip tie."

"I'll have to fix that soon. So Captain. What brings you back?"

Merle read the name on the man's jacket, Metzger, just as Sinclaire said, "Listen Metz…"

"Listen? Fuck listening. I listened to you the whole time. You left us here to die."

The weird thing, in Merle's opinion, was that the tone of Metzger's voice wasn't changing with those words. If Merle had needed to say them, he'd have said them at the top of his voice and from a distance of three inches from the person's face. Metzger stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, right shoulder against the door frame, voice as cool and calm as if he were discussing the weather.

"I didn't leave you to die, Metz," Sinclaire said, but her voice wavered dangerously.

"Sure you did, Captain. Do you know what I was doing while you were getting your shit together to desert us? I was trying to brace doors to keep those things out, trying to treat the wounded, trying to round them up for a shot in the head that they had no idea I was planning to give them, trying to make sure that none of their blood got on me. You were packing and I was trying to stay alive."

Merle dragged his gaze away from Metzger and looked to Sinclaire, expecting a denial. Instead her hands were in a white knuckle grip on the side of the water crate and her next breath was loud and ragged in the still air.

"Metz I...I just didn't know what to do. Orders had stopped coming in because the city was too overrun. You saw what they did…the napalm…they decided to cut their losses; they left us."

"_You_ left us."

"How many of ya'lls left?" Merle asked.

"Just me," Metzger answered. "I'm the only one."

"Then come with us," Sinclaire said. "You can leave with us. We've got a truck…supplies…"

"No," he cut in. "_I_ have supplies. _You_ don't have anything."

"Metz…"

"Hey, hey, hang on," Merle drawled. "Fuckin' women gettin' all emotional. Why they never shoulda put women in command if ya ask me. Now I been stuck with her this whole time and honestly, I'm just waitin' on her dumbass to get me killed. What about me and you strike a deal?"

"I'm listening," Metzger replied.

"Fuck you Merle Dixon," Sinclaire hissed at the same time.

"I'm gettin' pretty damn used to hearin' that," he answered. "What you want outta this?" he addressed Metzger again.

"I want her dead," he gestured to Sinclaire.

"Now that's just too bad," Merle sighed. "There was a couple things I really wanted to do with her."

Metzger's eyes drifted over Sinclaire and he nodded as well.

"Well come on into the hall and we'll talk terms," Metzger said. "Get her gun. There's no way out of this room and if she tries to get out past us, we'll deal with her."

Metz pointed his gun at her and Merle said, "Kick it over sweetheart."

She did and the two men walked out of the room. She closed her eyes and sat on the floor behind the crate. Her hands were shaking. She'd never, ever believed there would be survivors.

"So she just up and left ya'll?" Merle asked when the door was closed behind them.

"Yes. I saw her getting supplies together. I just never…I never thought she'd leave us all. I thought maybe the ones who weren't infected…"

"Ya thought maybe ya'd get an invite?"

"Yes," Metzger looked lost in thought.

Merle thought about what he'd heard. Sinclaire Lewis was a deserter in a time of war. Maybe that was why she'd laughed so hard at his "saint" comment.

"So she packed up her shit when the orders stopped comin' down and she figured out thatUncle Sam had just bent her over and fucked her in the ass," Merle mused.

"You sound like you admire her," Metzger turned, suspicion in his eyes, just a bit too late.

"Oh I do," Merle admitted. "I like self motivated people."

A quick pull of the trigger ended Metzger's struggle to survive.


	7. Chapter 7

Merle walked back into the room, leaving Metzger in the hall where he'd fallen.

"Sinclaire? Where ya at?" he called.

"Over here," she informed him, without bothering to get up.

"Hey," he crouched down in front of her. "He'd been bit…"

"No he hadn't. But I'm touched that you took the time to make up a lie to make me feel better. Or maybe you're just worried that I'd be pissed at you for killing Metz."

"More like that," Merle admitted. "Ya ain't though. Are ya?"

"I'm…no," she sighed. "I'm not. I'm relieved it was you and not me. Thanks. As fucked up as I feel saying it or feeling it…thanks."

"You're welcome. Ready to get the rest of the shit and move?"

"More than," she agreed, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

It took a while to organize everything, but several hours later there were several crates near the door, full, or in the case of the water crates, half full of supplies, everything from water to MRE's to ammo and weaponry.

Merle had switched his leather vest for a tactical one like hers and stocked it with weaponry he could use one handed, a handgun, grenades, his knife. A machete now hung from his belt at his right side. He'd also found fatigues and combat boots in his size and insisted on packing some that "oughta fit Daryl, my little, and I do mean little, brother."

"He can't be that small," Sinclaire protested. "You make him sound like a midget but those fatigues are a pretty average size."

"Yeah. He is average I guess," Merle looked thoughtful. "I been hasslin' him about bein' shorter than me for so long I kinda can't stop."

"I bet Daryl's just crazy about you," Sinclaire held up the flak jacket Merle had tossed into the crate for his brother, confirming her suspicions about a man of average height and build.

"Sure he is," Merle said easily. "I'm all he's got."

"Did he lose a lot of people to this thing?"

"Nah. He never had nobody to begin with. Told ya, Daryl's terrible with people."

"Yeah, but you also said he's 35. He didn't have a wife? Or even just a girlfriend? Kids? Friends?"

"Nope. Gotta talk to get a girl, gotta get a girl to have kids and hell…even I don't know why he didn't have friends."

"He doesn't _talk_?" now she was really curious about this mysterious Daryl.

Merle sighed in frustration.

"He talks. Just not much. I think you're gettin' the wrong idea. He ain't fuckin' Rainman or nothin'. He's just quiet and when he does talk, he usually says the wrong damn thing."

"So you're telling me that your 35 year old brother has never had a girlfriend?"

"That's what I'm tellin' ya."

"This hooker thing runs in the family huh?" Sinclaire crossed her arms, figuring that she'd gotten to the bottom of the matter.

"Nah," Merle laughed briefly. "Ya have to talk to them too, at least long enough to work out the business end."

Sinclaire digested that in silence for a moment. Her mental picture of Daryl morphed from a shorter, blonde version of Merle into something different. Now she saw him as average height but much more awkward, wearing glasses (granted Merle had never mentioned his brother wearing glasses, but her imagination tended to go overboard) lots of nervous gestures, probably a stutter, and also probably not good looking. No hot guy could possibly get through 35 years unscathed, whether he talked or not.

"Why all the interest in Daryl anyway?" Merle asked.

"I don't know. Symptom of being an only child I guess," Sinclaire shrugged.

"I wanna check out the medicine wing after all," he said. "Arm's killin' me."

"As long as you're not planning on doing something super redneck, like making meth in the back of the truck."

Merle snorted and they walked down the hall. Sinclaire was glad that the unit had completed her order about painting the windows black. They could use their flashlights without worrying about attracting any unwanted attention.

"Here we go," she said a few moments later, pushing a door open. "The crates are marked; I'm guessing that what you want is over there," she pointed to the medicine crates and he walked over.

"Holy shit! You people were really, really, hooked up."

"We were running supplies for a hospital," she reminded him. "Don't get crazy. I don't feel like ferrying you around high as a kite. I need an intelligent person to talk to."

He turned, surprised by that remark, but Sinclaire wasn't looking at him. She'd turned and begun digging though a box of first aid supplies. Intelligent wasn't a compliment tossed his way with any sort of frequency. He glanced into his bag at the small box of morphine vials and needles. There were 10 vials and the crate was jam packed with a shit load more. Enough to have put over half of Sinclaire's unit on its ass. In other words, more than enough to keep him real happy for a real long time. Maybe he'd add some more…"intelligent" damn it, that was nice to hear. Maybe just one more box. You never knew.

She concentrated on antiseptic and bandages, mostly so she could redress Merle's…well, not hand…arm? Wrist? Stump? Yep, there was no politically correct word there.

"You done?" she called.

"Yeah."

He answered from right behind her.

"Damn. You scared me," she breathed out.

"Sorry," he knew he didn't sound sorry, but that was because he really wasn't. He'd thought it was funny as hell to make her jump like that.

"Sure you are. Ready to face the masses? Or…" the idea occurred to her. "We could catch some sleep here. It's cooler than the truck is going to be with the sun coming up soon."

"How long you reckon it'll take to get to the CDC?"

"Not long. If there's not a lot of cars blocking the way," Sinclaire adjusted her statement as she stretched. "We're in the general vicinity. I'm just so damn tired…"

"I don't guess one more night'll hurt nothin'," Merle agreed. "You're the one drivin'. Where would we sleep at?"

"We set up cots in the rooms across from where we came in," she said, walking out and over to them.

"Be a hell of a lot more comfortable than the damn truck," he remarked, putting his backpack down.

"Damn straight," she grinned and said, "I'm going to go see if the water's still working."

"Ya'll got a shower?"

"No. But there's a sink and napkins. It'll have to do. Sorry," she added when his face fell. "If you want me to, I can wrap that," she gestured at his bandage, "in a plastic bag and you can wash up though."

"Might as well," he agreed.

He'd never been exactly what a person would call obsessively clean, but a week or two in the Georgia heat was enough to make anyone crave a good cold shower.

Sinclaire was pleased and surprised when the water worked readily. She washed up, sighing in pleasure as the cold water met her skin and dirt swirled down the sink drain. By the time she was done she'd managed what she felt like was a decent enough bath; she'd even washed her hair.

Merle was already lying on one of the cots when she walked in.

"I was right; it is better than the truck," he said. "But just barely."

"Well aren't you just Mister Sunshine?" Sinclaire smiled as she spoke. Being clean was such a wonderful feeling!

"Just honest," he answered.

Cravings were worse in the quiet. He could hear the wheels turning in his own brain and it was driving him crazy.

"Talk to me."

"About what?" Sinclaire stretched out, surprised by the request.

"I don't care. I'm…it's too fuckin' quiet in here. Maybe if you start yakking, I can go to sleep."

"Okay," Sinclaire wondered if he wanted his mind off the drugs she'd seen him put in his backpack. If so, she was happy to help. A sober redneck was a good redneck, especially when the redneck in question was fast enough to get her on the ground, literally one-handed. "Ask me a question and I'll answer it."

"Ya a spic?"

"What?"

"Ya got real pissed when I called Morales a wetback. Just wondered."

"No, I'm not. Racism bothers me, even when it's not against a race I belong to," she turned on her cot and squinted at him in the low light of the lamp he'd lit and put in the corner.

"Ya got dark hair, dark eyes…I thought maybe…" he trailed off.

"Nope. I'm Indian. Native American that is. Lenni Lenape tribe to be precise," she explained.

"No shit?" he was surprised.

"None whatsoever," she grinned. "If you want the specifics, it was actually my dad that was half Lenni Lenape. His mother was full. My mother was generalized American. German and Irish, a bit of English, some Cherokee I think…"

"Where's that tribe at? Not Cherokee, that other one."

"Lenni Lenape. Started in Delaware. New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, that area. Trail of Tears moved most to Oklahoma, but my dad's family came back to Pennsylvania later. That's where I'm from."

"Like a reservation?"

"No. Just a regular life in the 'burbs…mostly," Sinclaire cleared her throat. "What about you?"

"Nothin' I don't reckon. Never asked. Our old man was a drunk; our mama was dead by the time Daryl was ten," it had honestly never occurred to Merle to wonder. Being white and being American was enough for him to know. Now he kind of wondered. "Anyhow," he went on. "You and that guy…"

"Metzger," she replied flatly.

"Yeah. Ya'll was close?"

"Metz was my First Lieutenant. And…yeah, we got along. I guess I'd say we were friends."

"Ya took it weird that I killed him," Merle said. "Ya didn't seem…"

"You didn't kill the Metz I knew," Sinclaire rolled onto her back and sighed, trying to get her thoughts in order. "Metz was always joking, always laughing, he played practical jokes on all the new recruits…he was so sure everything would work out…"

"So that's how ya knew somethin' wasn't right?" Merle asked.

"Yeah. I guess he went crazy, being the only one left…"

"So ya really just cut out? Left 'em here?"

"Yeah," Sinclaire didn't elaborate.

"Hey, it's what I woulda done," Merle shrugged. "Why wait around for some jackass to fuck somethin' up and take everybody down with him right?"

"That was my train of thought," she admitted. "And I was…I was scared. No more orders, my men dying left and right, zombies showing up in waves that we couldn't drive all the way back; napalm rain, everybody was so scared. I…I just left."

"Nothin' else ya coulda done. And I'm kinda glad you're a deserter honestly. Who woulda unzipped me?"

"Yeah, that's an important consideration. Think you can go to sleep now?" she murmured sleepily into the darkness.

It was weird to hear a woman talk like that. He'd fucked his share of women, but he'd never spent the night with one. He preferred more of an "in and out" operation.

"Yeah I reckon so," he answered.

"All right. Night Merle."

"Night Sinclaire."

When Sinclaire woke up she felt a bit better; more ready to face loading the crates and tracking down the CDC anyway. Merle was still asleep; she noticed that he tended to stretch out to take up the whole cot. She slept the same way, filling all the available space. She was glad that they'd been sleeping separately, him in the front seat of the truck and her in the back; they'd get all in each other's space otherwise and that wasn't exactly something she wanted.

"Merle?"

"What?" he mumbled.

"Ready to hit the road?"

"Ready as I'm gonna be," he sat up and shrugged. "What's that?" he gestured toward her right hand.

"Zip tie. I'm going to lock the door from the outside. There's a lot of good stuff here. Maybe someone else can use it as a base or something."

Merle nodded and picked up his backpack.

"Then let's go," he said.

They walked back to the middle door and opened it cautiously. Sinclaire had parked at an angle so nothing could approach from the left once they were inside. The right was fairly clear; there were a few zombies in the general area, but the majority had shuffled toward the far end, back near the woods.

"Fast as we can then," she whispered.

He nodded and she stepped out, pulling the door up as he tossed both packs inside the truck. They'd organized the crates in order of priority like good soldiers. Water, ammo and weaponry, then food. The water crates went in without a hitch. Merle shot two zombies who approached Sinclaire's back as the ammo crate was loaded and that attracted the attention of the rest of the hoard.

"I want that food," Merle said flatly.

"Me too, but…"

"But nothin'," Merle pulled a grenade from his vest and yanked the pin with his teeth, then flung it into the crowd of zombies.

Sinclaire clapped her hands over her ears and prayed for the glass in the truck. She thought they were far enough away…they were. Before all the zombie parts had finished falling, Merle shoved the first food crate toward her and they lifted in unison, then grabbed the other. Merle followed it in and she quickly zip tied the doors shut.

"Move it along sweetheart," he called.

She glanced at the ground, littered with zombies who were dragging themselves toward her despite missing legs or arms.

"See Merle?" she called. "They've got the spirit!"

"Blow me!"

She jumped up and rolled the door down, giving him a grin as she cranked the vehicle and drove away.

"I'll pass. I don't know how much you'd like it anyway. I don't blow on a professional level."

Merle laughed. He was in a pretty good mood, all things considered. He was reasonably clean; they had food and a shit load of supplies, and they were on their way to get up with Daryl and, even though Sinclaire didn't know it, get vengeance on Rick and T-dog. It was a good morning, despite a smoky smell and feel in the air.


	8. Chapter 8

"Well this is all kinds of fucked up."

Sinclaire nodded. It was the first thing either of them had managed to say since they had pulled up to what was left of the CDC.

"I mean…now what?" he continued, looking at her as if she should know. "Ya think he was in there?"

"I doubt it," Sinclaire began, but Merle went on, losing his temper in that rapid way he had.

"Ya doubt it? But ya don't know do ya? What the hell could bring the place down like that? What…"

"Calm down."

"Fuck calm!"

"Look, let's just think it through okay? You lose it way too easily," Sinclaire replied.

"Hell, how would you be actin' if it looked like your brother got blown the fuck up?" Merle demanded.

"Like you," she admitted. "But, luckily for both of us, and probably luckily for him too, we don't share a brother. I'm here to make sure you find him."

"Yeah since it's your fuckin' fault that I missed gettin' back to camp before they moved it," he snarled.

"Sure. For my unpardonable sin of saving you."

"Savin' me? I saved myself!"

"Right. And what would you have done if you'd managed to get in the truck? You can't drive. You were barely even conscious. Fuck it all Merle; you couldn't even piss by yourself!"

"Fuck you!"

"Intellectual response. It's a real pleasure being stuck in a verbal disagreement with you," Sinclaire forced her voice into a tone of bored negligence.

"Ya want a physical disagreement with me?" Merle challenged.

"Now why would I risk my ass just to kick yours?" she gestured at the zombies shuffling around to emphasize her point.

He didn't know what to do; for a second he just stared at her. She lifted her eyebrows and spread her hands, wearing an expression that clearly asked, "Whadda ya gonna do?"

He snorted after a moment, half a laugh, half frustration. Sinclaire sat with him in silence for a while, letting him get his temper under control while she wracked her brain. If she was a shy, (possibly) virgin, bow-hunter with an overbearing redneck brother where would she go? As none of those adjectives strictly applied to her, she was at a loss when Merle reigned his temper in and spoke.

"Ya said ya don't think he was in there?"

"No I really don't. Places like this usually have…as lame as it sounds, they have self destruct sequences programmed into them. The group couldn't have gotten in if everyone inside was dead and if someone was alive in there he wouldn't have let them in knowing that the clock was running down," Sinclaire pointed out.

"And what if all the people that work here just left? What if Daryl and them didn't know…"

"Not likely. The CDC had bullet proof glass, and the self destruct would kick in when the power ran out. I don't think there would be a way in without being let in. And like I said…it's not likely that anyone was there to let them in. They briefed me on the place before orders stopped," she went on when Merle looked suspicious. "They thought about sending us as backup for the citizen panic."

"I don't know where to go next," Merle admitted.

"I don't either. We'll figure something out though. When they figured out the CDC was a bust what would they do?" she mused out loud.

"Walsh. Shane Walsh. He was sort of the leader. He used to be a cop, seemed to get off on leadin' everyone around. He'd be the one makin' the decisions." Merle frowned as he thought deeply and continued, "Military. He said somethin' about the military one time. Fort Benning. They went to Fort Benning."

"Why the fuck?"

"I don't know," Merle said. "Him and his woman was talkin' about it one time. He said that was the backup plan if somethin' happened to the camp."

"Then why'd they come here?" Sinclaire frowned.

"Hell I don't know! Maybe Walsh died. Maybe Officer Friendly took over…it's still somethin' to go on ain't it?"

"Sure I guess. So you think…what's the guy's real name?"

"Rick." Merle spat the name out.

"So you think Rick would have gone to Ft. Benning?" When Merle shrugged, she went on, "He's the one who left you on the roof I take it?" Merle nodded and Sinclaire said, "And he's a cop too? I wouldn't have expected so much of the local P.D. to make it honestly. They were right on the front lines."

"He ain't local. And he almost died; he rode into the middle of downtown like a motherfuckin' cowboy. Those things ate the horse right out from under him."

Merle grinned, clearly recalling it as a fond memory. On the one hand, Sinclaire understood that he was recalling the man who'd left him on a rooftop in the blistering city heat with no water, no food, and no hope of escape. On the other hand…she had to cover a sudden laugh with a forced cough. The puns in this situation were nearly limitless and her sense of humor could hardly be described as high-brow.

She reformed the thought. _To look at the situation another way_, that was better, it didn't inspire laughter. Merle obviously wasn't a nice guy and she knew damn good and well that he wouldn't have been nearly so eager to travel with her if she'd been black. She also knew without a doubt that he would have been just as physically violent with any other woman. It was only her years of Army training that had saved her from being seriously hurt and only the fact that she'd beat him with a move that could have killed him that kept it from happening again.

In short, Merle Dixon wasn't the type of man she'd ever have spent time with before this. She was almost sure that he'd done something to deserve being chained to that roof. But…he'd also saved her life, after he'd put it in danger that is. And he'd taken her side over Metzger's. Metzger who was a white, American male. Surprising, since he'd apparently been harboring the idea that she wasn't quite the pure blooded white American stock he apparently preferred to surround himself with. Hell, being one quarter Lenni Lenape, she was more American than he could ever hope to be!

"What ya makin' that face for?" Merle had been watching her expressions change for a while now. That woman didn't have much of a poker face.

"I'm thinking about you," she admitted.

"Aw, I'd be touched if ya didn't look so goddamn pissed. What've I done to ya in the last few minutes?"

"To me? Nothing. I just can't help wondering what you did to them."

"It don't matter."

"It matters to me. Your fuse is pretty short and I don't want to light it without meaning to," she informed him. "Did you have a reason? Or were you just all coked up?"

He didn't respond.

"Good answer. I really feel like I was there," she muttered.

"It didn't have nothin' to do with ya anyway," Merle maintained.

He didn't want to tell her for a lot of reasons. Mostly because, yeah, he'd been a bit fucked up and he honestly didn't know why he'd gotten as violent as he had, other than to say it tended to happen when he was…what did they call it? Under the influence? Yeah, that was it.

But really, he'd never seen a good reason to keep his temper in check, even stone cold sober. He liked getting his way and he'd discovered at a young age, mostly by watching his old man, that fear was a priceless motivation technique. He'd practiced it on Daryl and now look at that. 35 years old and he still did whatever the fuck Merle told him to do, which was good, because Merle knew Daryl didn't have the brains or the balls to run his own life.

"Fort Benning then?" Sinclaire arched a brow and he nodded. "Get the map."

Merle shook the map out awkwardly and she scooted closer, looking at it, tracing the route.

"Ain't that far," Merle said after a while.

"No, under normal circumstances it'd be easy. I-85, I-185 mostly…but I don't really want to hit the interstate."

"Why not?"

"Traffic reports were crazy; our supply carriers could barely get anywhere. Trips across town were taking a full day, and that was before everything went to shit. It might be better to take back roads and hook up with them at the base. Or we might meet up with them on a back road, if they have a navigator worth a shit," Sinclaire raised her eyebrows and Merle shrugged.

"The chink…" Merle shrugged again in response to her annoyed look. "The _Asian_ guy, that better? He knew his way around; if they listen to him they'll probably take back roads."

"Okay. Then, back the way we came and back roads to Fort Benning," Sinclaire put the truck in reverse, gritting her teeth as the wheels bounced over several zombies who'd gotten curious and approached the back of the vehicle as she and Merle talked. Running over something of human size and shape was a weird thing to try and get used to.

"Ya don't talk much," Merle observed after about half an hour of silence.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothin'. Most women ya can't shut up though. I'm just…curious," he was curious about her. She could be just as cold as he could, but she'd actually gotten somewhere in life…not that it mattered now. He shrugged off the thought that she might be a little better than him. Fuck it, this was his world now. It could be their world.

"Here's a conversation starter," Sinclaire pointed at the cars blocking the road. "We need to push those out of the way."

And that was what the spent the afternoon doing. Every time they cleared up some driving space, they ran into another jam. With water and rest breaks and lunch and dinner, they didn't get anywhere close to Ft. Benning that day. When the sun started going down, Sinclaire flatly refused to drive further, pointing out to a very impatient Merle that God only knew what was in those cars. They'd already had to deal with several surprises. She sure as hell didn't want to face any of them in the dark.

"Fine," Merle sighed and lay down across the front seat as she stretched out in the back between crates. "We'll get there tomorrow though right?"

"I don't see why not," Sinclaire replied stretching and sighing. "It's not far away now."

When Sinclaire looked back on it, she laughed to herself at her foolish habit of trying to predict the future.


	9. Chapter 9

Merle sighed and cracked his neck. It was noon and the sun was fucking blistering. He saw Sinclaire roll her shoulders and rub the back of her neck tiredly. They'd decided to walk on up the road and clear cars for a long way rather than driving for a few feet and stopping "8000 times" as she'd put it.

"Tired, sweetheart?" Merle called.

"Tired doesn't cover it," she replied, ignoring the endearment. "And I think I've pulled a muscle."

"Where at?"

"Why do you care?"

"Where the fuck at?"

She pointed to her shoulder and Merle reached out and rubbed it.

"That better?"

"Uh…" she wanted to pull away, but damn it, it did make it better.

"Sounds like it to me," he grinned at her.

"Yeah well," she began but then she gasped in pain when his grip tightened. "What the…oh."

There were four men walking up the embankment.

"Ya'll need help?" the blonde called cordially.

Sinclaire felt sick with anxiety suddenly.

"Help with what?" Merle drawled, keeping his hand on the back of her neck.

"Anything," another of the men said. "You're walking. It's amazing you and your wife have survived."

"I'm a pretty goddamned amazing guy," Merle replied.

"I'm Will," the blonde man said, ignoring Merle's less than friendly behavior. "And it sure it nice to see some fellow survivors. This is Patrick, Sam, and Donny," he gestured at his companions. "We've got a real secure little place just down there if you're interested in a shower, some food…maybe even a bed if you'd like."

"And whatcha want for all that food and comfort?" Merle asked.

Sinclaire was relieved at the skepticism in his voice. She couldn't put her finger on the reason, but she didn't trust Will and his little band of survivors.

"Nothing," the man Will had called Sam sounded shocked. "We try to get out here every day, looking for anyone who might have survived this thing, or people who need medical attention. Like you," he nodded at the, now dirty, bandage on Merle's right arm.

"Its fine," Merle snarled.

"Your wife might be tired though," Will said, sounding both patient and concerned.

Sinclaire didn't make the denial she figured Merle was expecting. It was clear to her that they thought she was an abused wife, and she was more than happy to let them nurse the delusion. She was all for equality, but in this situation she was outnumbered and she hadn't missed the fact that they were outgunned. Every member of the group with Will had a gun in hand. She was glad Merle had kept his left hand on the back of her neck in that possessive way.

"Ya don't need to worry about her," he said gruffly. "I can take care of her just fine."

"Well, if you really want to get on your way, we won't hold you up. It's just that we brought down a buck and we thought we'd offer you some before you hit the road. My wife's a pretty good little campfire cook," Will shrugged. "She and Donny's wife sure were excited to hear about another woman out there."

Merle swallowed hard at the thought of venison. Sinclaire glanced up at him.

"Merle," she whispered when she saw the look in his eyes.

"Hang on," he said to the men as he turned and pulled her out of earshot. "What ya think?"

"I think we should just keep walking," Sinclaire answered. "I don't trust any of them."

"Hell sweetheart, there's trust and then there's venison," Merle argued. "We could be in and out after we eat."

Sinclaire crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Ya expect me to believe that ya can't take 'em?" he drawled. "Between you and me those pussies don't have a chance."

She smiled in spite of herself and he took that as assent, turning back to the group and accepting their generosity in typical Merle fashion. Anyone hearing the conversation would have assumed he was doing them a favor by eating their food rather than the opposite.

Sinclaire didn't know what motivated her, but she tossed the box truck keys into the grass behind her, where they couldn't see them. _Red Bronco, crack in the windshield_, she repeated to herself, as she walked over to the group, trying to fix it in her mind. Merle put his hand on the back of her neck again and they walked down the embankment.

They both stopped short when the building came into view.

"A fuckin' jail?" Merle questioned.

"It's a very secure location," Sam stated.

"And it's well set up, everything you need," Patrick agreed.

"I'm going to go ahead and let the missus know you're coming," Donny said before jogging off quickly.

"She's a little shy," Will said. "She'll feel more comfortable if we give her time to get used to the idea of company."

"How long have she and Donny been married?"

Merle was surprised at the tone in Sinclaire's voice. She'd made it fuckin' timid somehow. He wouldn't have thought the brash Yank he knew was capable of sounding like that.

"2 years," Will answered after a slight hesitation.

"And you and your wife?" Sinclaire pressed.

"4," he replied. "Maybe we should…"

"And what are their names?" Sinclaire asked.

"Mine…my wife's name is Candace and Donny's is Monica," Will's tone sharpened and Merle stepped in.

"She asks too many fuckin' questions," he said.

"Sorry," Sinclaire ducked her head in what she hoped was a properly submissive stance. "It's just been so long since we've seen anyone…"

"It's fine," Will reassured her in a stiff voice.

They got to the jail and Donny let them in.

"The women are cooking," he informed them. "Why don't the two of you have a rest? Or a shower? We have a generator."

"I…" Sinclaire began but Merle cut in, accepting for them both.

"Sure. Me and my wife can go in together right?"

Sinclaire wanted to kick him.

Will laughed heartily and pointed them to the bathroom.

"Fuck you Merle Dixon," Sinclaire whispered when the door closed behind them.

He laughed.

"Don't get all upset over it. It makes sense if ya think about it. We got a shit-load of weaponry we don't want stolen and the easiest way is for it to stay in here. One of us can shower and the other can watch the stuff and then we'll switch."

"I guess that does make sense," she admitted grudgingly. "Who goes first?"

"Ya can if ya want," he shrugged.

"You keep your eyes down," she ordered.

"Hell, I've done seen most of it," he reminded her. "And it looks damn good."

"As flattering as that is, I'm not inclined to show it off again," she answered dryly. "Seriously, if I catch you peeking…"

"What'll ya do?" Merle asked in curiosity, facing the wall and listening to her undressing.

"Flick soap in your eyes and then kick you in the nuts."

"Damn. You're right. It ain't worth it."

She laughed and he heard the shower curtain rustle as she pulled it closed and started the water.

"Whatever. It's totally worth it," she called.


	10. Chapter 10

After the showers were over Merle and Sinclaire walked back out, looking for the men. Or the women. Sinclaire still hadn't seen them.

"Over here," Will called from down the hall. "We've got some bunks set up if you're interested…"

"Nah," Merle said. "We figured we'd have dinner and be on our way."

"Where are your wives?" Sinclaire asked. "I wanted to see if I could help with any of the cooking…"

"No," Sam replied. "They're doing fine on their own. You just relax."

"Hell. She relaxes she gets fuckin' lazy," Merle drawled. "Ya oughta let her help."

He didn't understand her motivations, but he knew Sinclaire wanted to talk to those women.

Patrick laughed and said, "You know how women are in the kitchen. Territorial. I almost got my hand taken off the last time I offered to help! You'd better stay out here and let us keep you safe."

Merle noticed the way the man's eyes lingered on Sinclaire as he said that last part. They sat making small talk for awhile and then Sinclaire excused herself to the bathroom. Once she was out of view she sprinted for the kitchen. When she opened the door she saw two women of average height and weight cooking venison. It looked so normal for a moment that she felt stupid for assuming differently.

Then she realized the women were practically cringing and they hadn't turned to face the opened door.

"Um. Hi," she said.

The woman on the right spun around.

"I'm Sinclaire Lewis," Sinclaire said. "Are you…"

"Did Will bring you?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, he invited my husband and me to dinner," she answered.

The woman started to reply, but the other woman put her hand on her arm and shook her head slightly.

"Can I just ask you one thing?" Sinclaire asked quickly; she thought she heard footsteps in the hall. "Which of you is Candace?"

The woman on the right said, "I am. Why…"

"How long have you and Will been married?"

"6 years," the woman answered after a moment.

"6 years," Sinclaire repeated. "That's right. Okay. See you at dinner!"

She walked out, right into Will. Giving him a shy smile she said, "I'm sorry. I got lost."

She walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Will had said 4 years. There was no way that a couple would be that far off about their time together. Something was up and it didn't spell out anything good for her and Merle.

Merle was waiting for her in the hall when she walked out of the bathroom.

"Dinner's ready," he informed her.

"And after that, we're out of here right?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he answered. "I like this side of ya. All quiet and ladylike."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, after this we're outta here," he answered with a grin. "I don't like the way those guys look at ya."

"What do you mean?"

"They watch ya real close, but ya don't need to worry about it. I ain't gonna let 'em hurt ya."

"Why not?"

"Cause you're mine for right now," he said simply. "I know it ain't…I know we ain't fuckin', but that don't change the facts."

"And what facts would those be?" she asked in shock.

"You're the one who can help me get what I want," he informed her honestly. "And I don't hate ya."

Sinclaire laughed in spite of herself.

"I don't hate you either," she admitted.

"Come on you two," Will called. "You don't want to let it get cold."

They walked in and sat at the table. Candace and Monica served and everyone began eating. Sinclaire took a sip of the water Candace had poured her and ate as quickly as she could. Merle was eating fast too, but she didn't know if he was of the same mind, or if he was just hungry. It wasn't until the room tilted that she realized her mistake.

Merle glanced at Sinclaire when her chair scraped back and she tried to stand up.

"What the fuck?" he asked when she put her hand on his shoulder for balance.

He stood up and caught her as she fell.

"I told you to do them both," Will hissed, pointing his gun at Merle's head.

"I…I did!" Candace wrung her hands. "I did what you said, I swear!"

"What the fuck ya'll talkin' about?" Merle felt a little sleepy, but he figured that was just because of how fast he'd been eating. Now though, with Sinclaire out like a light, he was thinking differently.

"We're not going to let you leave," Will informed Merle. "We're…collectors."

"Collectors?" Merle questioned. "Of what?"

"Women," Sam answered casually. "We'll have to repopulate at some point won't we?"

"We'd planned to kill you," Patrick cocked his gun. "It would have been easier to do if you'd been knocked out, but she fucked it up."

Patrick backhanded the woman and she cried out, putting her hand to her cheek and starting to sob.

"Shut that bitch up," Donny snapped.

"Hey, now," Merle scooped Sinclaire up, holding her close, so that her body shielded a good many of his vital organs. "You're gettin' carried away. I'm guessin' she did drug me; I'm feelin' kinda sleepy. It ain't her fault I got a high tolerance. I'd rather work out a deal with ya than catch a bullet in the head."

"She's not your wife is she?" Will asked thoughtfully.

"Fuck no. And ya'll are actin' like I wouldn't share her for some safety and a nice soft place to sleep."

"You aren't in a position to bargain," Donny reminded him.

Merle shrugged and said, "I might be. I got a vest loaded with grenades and ya'll might think I'm not crazy enough to kill everybody in this room, but you'd be fuckin' wrong."

He held up the grenade he'd pulled from his vest as he'd spoken.

"Now I think I've earned a right to stay here since ya'll tried to drug me and it didn't fuckin work. I might be more like ya than ya think."

Will suddenly laughed.

"I've liked you from the beginning," he admitted. "I thought there was more to you than met the eye. The fact is, Patrick had his eye on her for himself…he's got a thing for brunettes."

Patrick looked sullen at the thought of giving her up and Merle shrugged nonchalantly.

"I been tryin' to get her to trust me," Merle said. "Now that I got a convenient cell to put her in…what I'm sayin' is that I ain't fucked her yet and I don't want your sloppy seconds. Give me a few days to get what I want outta her and then ya can have her. How 'bout that?"

"That sounds good," Will spoke for Patrick. "Candace, go show him where he can put her."

Candace did as she was told and Merle lay Sinclaire down on the small cot inside the cell. Then he went back out where everyone was eating.

"Can I have some food that ain't laced with just enough of the good shit to piss me off?" he asked.

"Wasn't in the food," Patrick informed him. "It was in the water."

He handed Merle an unopened bottle as he spoke and Merle nodded, unscrewed the lid and drank.

When Sinclaire woke up she was in a cell. Merle sat at the end of the cot, watching her.

"Oh my God," she groaned as she sat up. "What are we going to do?"

"Ain't no "we" about it," Merle answered. "That Patrick guy wants ya for his woman and I've agreed to let him have ya in a few days…once I'm done with ya."

"What?" she felt dangerously close to passing out again.

"Yep," Merle rolled his shoulders. "For the next three days, I get to do whatever I want with ya."


	11. Chapter 11

He watched the color drain out of her face, leaving her olive skin gray as her dark eyes went wide.

"Hell, sweetheart I'm just fuckin' with ya. About me rapin' ya. Not about the rest. I bought us some time to plan. Ya always got a plan. Let's strategize."

"I can't strategize when there are men out there waiting to rape me!"

"Just the one," Merle reassured her. "But I reckon I see your point. Want me to tell ya what I know?"

"Yes."

"All right, come here."

"Why?" she eyed him skeptically.

"Because if they come by it needs to look good; like I'm gettin' it done, not like we're talkin' about escape plans," he drawled sarcastically.

She took a seat in his lap, straddling him and leaning in so that her head rested on his shoulder.

"There ya go," he spoke low. "Now it looks like I'm accomplishin' somethin'. And anytime ya wanna yell out, "I've never felt this good in my life," or "You're a God Merle!" ya feel free. It wouldn't be nothin' I ain't heard before."

She gave a shaky laugh and thumped him on the back.

"Talk to me please," she said.

"All right. They've been here for about a month. They got Candace, that's Will's girl, about a week into this whole thing. She and her husband was trying to get into the city."

"Her husband?" Sinclaire whispered.

"Yeah. I ain't gonna spell it out for ya. The other one, Monica, she's Donny's woman; they been together for about a year."

"Damn."

"Yeah. They trust me for right now…"

They both went still when they heard footsteps in the hall.

"I'd put up a fight if I was you," Merle whispered before moving so that his body covered hers.

His mouth over hers muffled the exclamation she made and she thought she heard a derisive laugh as the person walked on by the cell. Merle was surprised to feel her body, which he was certainly well aware of, tremble with real fear. Hell, he'd warned her hadn't he?

He pulled back and stared down at her.

"Ya all right?"

"Can you move please?" Sinclaire was dismayed to hear her voice shaking as much as her body.

"Yeah," he sat up and looked at her curiously. "Ya a dyke or somethin'?"

"What? No! I just…I just don't like to be…you know…touched. That's not the point. What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Merle admitted. "They ain't too smart if they trust me already…and I kinda think they might be pretty smart. I thought we'd wait it out. I got three nights with ya. We'll go for it on the third night."

"Go for what?"

"Bustin' outta here. Which I ain't never done. I been in places like this plenty of times, but I usually just waited on Daryl to come bail me out. If I'd known I'd wind up breakin' an Injun chick outta prison I'da done my research better," Merle informed her.

"You're an idiot."

She said it with a smile.

"Now, I gotta go. Ya gotta remember to look like ya hate me," he reminded her. "And maybe ya oughta talk to that Candace woman. She might know somethin' we don't. Don't talk to Monica though…she's…"

"I know," Sinclaire cut in. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Night."

"Night."

Merle did his best to remember to look triumphant, rather than thoughtful for the group when he'd come back from Sinclaire's cell.

"Aw, don't look like that," he said, smacking Patrick in the back when he gave him a sullen look. "You're gonna love her. Puts up a good fight. Not even sure I coulda handled her without a cage."

He didn't get much sleep that night though. They'd already planned to kill him and he wasn't just gonna take their word that they weren't still thinkin' about it. He lay there remembering how she'd felt under him. It was weird; her body had trembled as she'd stiffened in reaction and it made him uneasy. Why had she been so scared? Why the hell did he care about it one way or the other? He didn't want her specifically. Yeah, Sinclaire was hot…but he just didn't see it happening between them. Maybe because he was so preoccupied with the thought of dying.

Well, he wasn't about to die right this second—hopefully—so he decided to think on it for a moment. Were they friends? He guessed maybe they were. It was a weird way to think of a woman. Women, in his experience, were good for one thing and it sure as hell wasn't cooking. His friends had always been men like him. Ex-military, hard drinkin men who didn't mind sharing their cocaine with him as long as he didn't take too much of their supply and bought a round or two before they had to stumble home to the women they'd been dumbass enough to saddle themselves with. They usually staggered out informing him of how smart (or lucky depending on the man who said it) he was for having stayed single.

Merle sort of smiled thinking back on it. He'd been pretty damn smug about it, but to tell the truth…he might not have had a woman, but he sure as hell wasn't alone. He had Daryl.

He couldn't even count the times he'd staggered into the trailer to find Daryl either asleep on the couch or vacantly watching late night infomercials. Whether he found his brother awake or asleep, Merle always said the same thing.

"Wait up for me Darylina?"

Daryl's reply varied; it was either a sleepy, "Fuck you," or an irritated, "Just couldn't sleep."

Merle would laugh and Daryl would stomp down the hall to his room. Merle usually made it as far as the couch before his legs gave out. In the morning Daryl would make bacon; not because he wanted Merle to eat, but because he was hoping to make him feel sick. It worked about half the time and Daryl would crunch his (extra crisp) bacon with an innocent expression as Merle made his way to the bathroom. Huh. Thinking back on it, maybe that was why Daryl didn't mind the sound of hurling. Maybe it was the sound of victory to him.

Merle snorted with repressed laughter. This was the most he'd thought about Daryl in a long time. The fact that he'd done it in the middle of figuring out if he wanted to fuck Sinclaire it had also been enlightening. Daryl had certainly never crossed his mind around a woman he wanted to bang. He guessed they were "just friends."

Sinclaire lay staring at the ceiling. She wished she hadn't flipped out like that when Merle had pushed her backward. She shivered just remembering what it had felt like. Merle was a lot bigger than her…the memory of his weight pushing her into the mattress, of his lips over hers in a passionless kiss…her stomach turned over.

It wasn't that Merle was awful or anything. Okay…maybe morally not the greatest, but who the hell was she to judge? Attractiveness wise…she was as ambivalent toward him as she was toward everyone else. She forced her thoughts away from that and onto possible escape routes.

The jail was set back from the highway and the embankment leading up to the highway was steep and there were no convenient places to hide on the way up it in case someone opened fire on them. There was another exit at the back that led to a smaller highway and a wooded area. Praise the whole fucking South for the abundance of wooded areas.

The next morning Candace brought her breakfast.

"Anything in here I should know about?" Sinclaire asked.

The woman blushed and looked down.

"I'm sorry…"

"Hey, don't worry about it. I figure we're in the same situation. I'm not planning to stick around either. What can you tell me about getting out?" Sinclaire decided to be blunt. The truth was usually the fastest way to an answer.

"Getting out?" Candace whispered. "What's the point?"

"The point is that I'm not okay with being raped and you shouldn't be either. I'd take you with me."

"It doesn't matter anymore," tears filled the woman's green eyes. "James is gone…"

"James?" Sinclaire played dumb so as not to blow Merle's cover.

"My real husband. Will killed him. I don't care what happens to me now."

Before Sinclaire could answer, Candace walked away, tears streaming down her cheeks. Fuck. She'd already given up. The day whiled away long and dull. Sinclaire wondered where her gun was. It was pretty lucky that she'd left her vest in the truck; she'd never have managed to get it back. She and Merle would have to be ready at a moment's notice.

Merle figured that they would hit the road at night. He figured he could sneak her out the back. He figured that she would keep things calm until he was ready. He figured that he would just enjoy himself in relative comfort and wait for the right moment.

He figured wrong.

Later that day, Will came by Sinclaire's cell.

"Hey there Princess," he said cheerfully.

"Don't call me that," she replied. "What did you do with those women's husbands?"

"Monica really is Donny's wife," Will answered. "And Candace…her husband didn't feel any pain. We were nicer than we could have been. I know that soon you'll be enjoying Patrick just as much as she enjoys me."

"You really think she enjoys you? You think she sits around dreaming about being raped by the man who murdered her husband? Let me ask you this…are you brain damaged or just fucking stupid?"

His face darkened with anger and he opened the cell door, stepping in and close to her.

"Watch what you say. I don't like it when ladies swear."

"Fuck you, you cocksucking son of a bitch," she let her voice rise into a yell. "What are you scouting for women for anyway? You boys run out of lube? Or do none of your buddies swallow just the way you like?"

He swung for her jaw; she ducked the punch and spun, sweeping his legs out from under him. Why the hell had she thought hand to hand fighting wouldn't come in handy in an apocalypse? She drew back and kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Before she could take two steps out of the door, Sam appeared.

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asked, leveling a shot gun at her chest.

"Just what the fuck does it look like?" she hissed.

Merle, who'd heard her yelling and walked over to the cell, placed the barrel of the M9 to the back of the man's head and pulled the trigger. Sinclaire leaped to the side to avoid being covered in blood and brain matter as Sam fell. Merle aimed again, putting a bullet in Will's head.

"No fuckin' way they didn't hear that. Get your ass in gear sweetheart," he ordered.

"Out the back," she said quickly. "Toward the road, into the woods."

"Sounds good to me," he started to run, pushing her in front of him.

Donny had been down the hall. He wasn't sure where the women were…and Monica was a wild card. He didn't know where Patrick was either…

The question was answered when one of the hall doors opened and Patrick stepped out. Sinclaire stopped and Merle ran into her.

"Were those…were you the ones shooting?" Patrick asked.

"Ya ain't too bright are ya?" Merle drawled. "I told ya she puts up a hell of a fight."

Patrick wavered for a moment, clearly hoping to save Sinclaire for future endeavors. It was enough to mean his death; Sinclaire moved as if she was going to run and in the split second his attention was elsewhere, Merle shot Patrick in the gut.

"God damn we're a good team sweetheart," Merle said, finishing the man off almost casually with a bullet through the brain.

Another door opened and Candace stuck her head out of the kitchen.

"Come with us," Sinclaire offered suddenly.

"What?" Merle and Candace asked at the same time.

"Come with us. Everyone but Donny is dead. And Monica. We didn't kill her either…this is the only chance you'll get."

"I…"

"What the fuck?" Donny's voice bellowed from down the corridor.

"Sounds like he just found Will and Sam," Merle shoved Sinclaire. "Get a move on now! You too if you're comin'."

Candace followed. They hit the door just as a gun went off behind them.

"Motherfucker!" Merle yelled.

"Are you all right?" Sinclaire asked as they ran.

"No I'm not motherfuckin' all right! Now there's a chunk outta my damn left arm," Merle snarled. "Just keep movin'!"

She didn't need to be told twice. Candace squealed when another shot rang out. Sinclaire gritted her teeth. God only knew what was living in the woods they were headed for; Merle was apparently bleeding now, and this woman was shrieking like a fucking banshee!

"Be quiet!" Sinclaire ordered.

When the next shot blasted the air Candace dove behind the open door of an abandoned car. Sinclaire yanked her up.

"That only works in movies. Those bullets will come straight through," she explained, taking the time to glance behind her. Donny was running after them.

"Fuckin' move!" Merle yelled.

Sinclaire noticed that he hadn't waited for her. Not that she could blame him.

"Fucking shoot him!" she screamed back.

Merle raised the gun; another shot sounded. Not from Donny. So Monica was the type to stand by her man. Of course supportive wife didn't always translate into good shot. She missed Merle; the bullet took a good chunk out of a nearby tree though.

Sinclaire ran, waving for Candace to follow her.

"Zig zag," she called. "Don't give them a predictable target!"

Merle waited at the edge of the woods, and then he had an idea. He stepped out and aimed. A shot dropped Donny. The bellow of agony told him it had been well placed. Right in the knee.

The gunfire stopped and he heard Monica scream for her husband. That oughta distract her long enough to save Sinclaire's ass.

Sinclaire ran headlong into the woods and straight into Merle's arms. She smacked him on the back and said, "Good one!"

"Thanks. That's a bullet hole you're huggin' on though."

"Oh. Sorry. Let's keep up the progress shall we?"

Candace stared at them.

"Where are we going to go?"

"We got a truck," Merle answered. "And I ain't gonna stand around bleedin' so all the fuckin' zombies in the area can smell it. Come on."

They jogged through the woods and up the embankment in an area that was pretty far from the jail, just in case. It was starting to get dark, but Sinclaire couldn't think of anything but the idea of safety in the box truck.

"Red Bronco, crack in the windshield," she muttered.

"What?" Merle asked, gritting his teeth at the pain radiating through the injury in his good arm.

"I threw the box truck keys into the grass near a red bronco with a crack in the windshield. We need to keep an eye out."

"That was fuckin' stupid. It's almost dark!"

"Well I thought they might have stolen our supplies otherwise," she snapped back.

"They would have," Candace confirmed through her gasps. "They stole our things. Donny was using a gun that belonged to James."

"Fucker," Sinclaire muttered.

"He'll probably die," Merle informed them. "Now let's get to lookin' for this Bronco."

It was full dusk when they found the vehicle. Sinclaire started looking through the scruffy grass and Merle joined her. They'd been looking for several seconds when Candace gasped sharply.

"What's up?" Sinclaire asked, not glancing up.

"I…it's…I've never seen anything like it," the woman continued.

Sinclaire sighed in frustration. Merle glanced over his shoulder and went still.

"Christ."

It Merle's horrified tone that turned Sinclaire's head. Zombies. A fucking…the only word that came to mind was herd. A herd of zombies shambled their way.

"Merle," she whispered.

"Find them damn keys," was all he said.

"It won't do any good! We're too far from the truck!"

"Whatcha suggest then?" Merle snarled. "That we just lay down and die?"

It was a good point. She dropped to her knees, sifting through the grass desperately in the half dark. Merle was doing the same thing. Candace was…Candace was gone.

"Where'd she go?" Sinclaire asked.

"Who cares? Keep lookin'!"

Her fingers touched the cold metal of the key ring as she heard the first scream.

"Oh no," she whispered.

She and Merle stood and looked down the highway a bit.

"She ran right toward 'em," Merle said in disbelief. "What the hell?"

They'd swarmed the woman; her screams made Sinclaire feel sick, they were so filled with agony. Suddenly words formed through the screams.

"Run! Run now!"

Merle's mouth dropped open as he realized that the woman was aware of the fact that she was providing a perfect distraction for the majority of those things. He glanced down at Sinclaire, who'd pressed her hand to her mouth in shock. He grabbed her arm and ran, skirting the bulk of the hoard by jumping over the concrete barrier separating the lanes. They made it to the truck, closing out the woman's last screams as the doors closed behind them.

Sinclaire covered her face with her hands and tried not to throw up. She was surprised when Merle reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her against him and let her catch her breath. They'd gotten into the back of the truck to avoid being seen by any stragglers in the herd and her ragged breathing was loud in the stillness.

"I'm thinkin' we oughta sleep here," he said after a while. "It's dark and those fuckers…"

"Yeah," Sinclaire agreed. "What about your arm?"

She felt bad, but she'd completely forgotten it.

"Just grazed me. Might outta wrap it up though."

She did that and then they both lay down in the back of the truck, giving in to the sleep they'd been denied in the "safety" of the jail.


	12. Chapter 12

Sinclaire glanced at Merle. He was drinking from a bottle of water and squinting into the late afternoon sun. They'd been on the road for almost a month now. Fort Benning had been a bust; there had been no one left alive. Just lots of zombies in fatigues.

They'd kept up with fuel easily; the car graveyard yielded plenty to refill the fuel barrels and Sinclaire generously allowed Merle to handle the siphoning so he could get a buzz. Careful rationing meant they still had food and water. She was thinking it was about time to set up a camp and try to stick out the coming winter in one place, but she didn't know how Merle would feel about that. They still hadn't found a trace of his brother or the others.

"Ready to head on?" he asked.

She nodded and got behind the wheel.

"Winter isn't far off," she said after a while.

"Ya wanna find somewhere to camp," Merle stated flatly.

"Damn. I thought this would be a big argument," she replied.

"I don't like the idea," he said. "But I don't like the idea of runnin' outta food neither. We might should find somewhere and get some huntin' done. We could live outta the truck I reckon. Be safer than tents or whatever."

"I agree with all that. What do you say we start looking for places that might work? We need a water source, woods, near a road in case we need to move on quick, fast, and in a hurry," she finished, borrowing one of his expressions.

"Yeah," Merle ran his hand over his head and sighed. "If I ain't got this then what the hell have I got?"

Sinclaire didn't really know how to answer. All the typical reasons for living life had died with the majority of the population. There was no money to earn, no way to show off accomplishments, no rank to aspire to, no women or men to impress. There wasn't even TV to dull the boredom.

"Come on," he went on when she was silent. "Act like a woman for once."

"Everything will be fine. You'll find Daryl and the world will be a better place again."

"All right, don't do that no more. Don't sound right comin' from ya."

She gave a quick laugh and Merle snorted in a half laugh of his own. They didn't fight nearly as much anymore, although they still went toe to toe when they did disagree. He couldn't say that he minded.

Another few days on the road yielded a good location. It had been bar and campground. Sinclaire thought it was an odd combination; Merle reminded her that this was the South and people with sense didn't camp far from their beer.

She looked at the rotting wood of the front porch and the sign that stated the name of the place, somewhat ominous under the circumstances, "The Last Chance."

"Well, on the plus side, it's got a good little stream," she said as they hiked around the area.

"Yeah. I wanna see if there's any of the good stuff in there too," Merle indicated the bar.

"I sure could use something a little stronger than water," Sinclaire admitted with a smile.

The interior of the bar was dusty and jumbled, but Sinclaire wasn't sure how much was apocalypse and how much was "ambiance."

"Boo-yah!" Merle whooped. "Look at this!"

Most of the liquor was still there. Sinclaire walked around behind the counter and raised her eyebrow at Merle.

"What can I get you?" she asked.

"Nah, ya gotta get a better accent. Ain't drinking liquor poured by a Yank," Merle drawled as he pulled up a stool.

"What can I getcha sugar?" Sinclaire put her hand on her hip and gave him a wide grin, twirling her hair around her finger. If she'd had gum she would have popped it.

"Jack Daniels, straight."

She rummaged and came up with an unopened bottle. She opened it and examined the shot glasses. They were just dusty so she poured a shot and slid it over to Merle. It didn't work the way it did in movies. About half the whiskey soaked into the wood of the bar top.

"Ya need practice," he said, before downing the whiskey left in the glass. "And you're accent's awful."

"Couple more of them, cowboy, and ya won't even notice," she informed him, knocking back her own shot.

"Nice, Yank," Merle said in approval. "Course I reckon that's the Injun in your blood."

Sinclaire laughed and poured another.

By the time she was nice and warm from the inside she and Merle were making grandiose plans for their new hideaway. There wasn't a sign that it had ever been touched by zombies and Merle had a plan about smoker barrels for meat…something he vaguely remembered Daryl talking about.

"Daryl must be a hell of a guy," Sinclaire said.

"Ah you're with the best Dixon brother right here," Merle threw his arm over her shoulder. "Daryl wouldn't have had a damn thing to say to ya for weeks."

"I wouldn't mind a little quiet," she teased.

"Yeah well…trust me…you like me better. We ever find him and you'll see."

"I like you just fine," Sinclaire admitted. "But hunting wise…"

"Fuck. I can fuckin' hunt! And Daryl woulda been up shit creek if he'd been the one on the roof. Can't shoot a crossbow one handed now can ya?"

"Guess not. Don't know for sure. I've never seen anyone use one," she admitted. "Not exactly standard military issue these days."

"Ya know what?" Merle glanced down at her. "You're drunk. You're talkin' all slow."

"You're hearing all slow," she argued. "I am not drunk."

"How the hell ya hear slow?" he laughed.

"I don't know…but you are. Because I'm not."

They both looked at the bottle of Jack and realized there was only about enough for two or three more shots.

"Maybe we're both drunk," she said. "We should go back to the truck. Of course, if I'm going to be eaten alive then this is the time to do it. I think it wouldn't hurt nearly as bad…"

"Ya think them things can get drunk?" Merle pondered on their stumbling walk back. "If they was to eat one of us right now, reckon they'd feel it?"

Sinclaire found the thought funny and giggled all the way back to the truck.

"I didn't expect ya to laugh like that," Merle said when they both lay down in the back.

"Like what?" she was still giggling.

"I don't know. All light soundin'. I ain't really ever heard ya sound happy."

"All it takes is half a bottle of Jack to cheer me up!"

Sinclaire closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. The next morning her tune had changed. She woke up feeling like her mouth was stuffed with cotton balls and her brain had apparently been replaced with a drum.

"Mornin'," Merle called.

"Fuck you Merle Dixon."

He just laughed. Several bottles of water and some headache pills later, she was feeling better.

"I say we scout the area," she said after lunch. "I'll go one way, you go the other, we meet back here for dinner."

"All right. Take this," he handed her the gun. "Two shots if ya need me."

She nodded and headed into the woods. It was a nice day, not quite as sweltering as the weather had been. She walked for a while, examined the plant life and hoped for something that looked edible. She wished she'd paid more attention to that kind of thing. Her attention was caught by a shuffle to her right.

A glance over her shoulder confirmed one lone zombie. She'd forgotten her silencer. It was a little more worse for the wear than most, basically falling apart, so she just sprinted away.

She'd always liked running and these were pretty woods. She felt sweat trickle down her back and she easily jumped a fallen log…she realized her mistake when, rather than landing on flat ground, she encountered a steep grade.

"Oh fuck," she whispered, trying desperately not to lose her balance.

It didn't work; she'd built up too much momentum to stop and she ended up going over a steep embankment. That wouldn't have even been so bad if there hadn't been a human shape at the base of the drop.

She landed right on it, planning to grab her knife and deal with it before its slower reflexes realized what had happened. Instead her breath went out in a rough gasp as strong hands yanked her over, then dragged her back, pressing a long hunting knife to her throat.

"Not one of them!" she gasped out, involuntarily closing her eyes. "Not…don't…"

"God damn," a man's voice, low and Southern said.

"I'd normally be the first to compliment you on the extremely sharp edge of your blade," she went on, opening her eyes and to find herself staring at a scruffy guy who looked as shocked as she felt. "But it hurts."

He pulled the knife back, still staring at her in wordless surprise.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was running and I jumped and the ground wasn't flat like I thought it would be…and I fell off that," she pointed up at the edge of the embankment over their heads.

"Ya landed on me," he said. It was an idiotic thing to say, but he was totally shocked. And…well…she was still catching her breath and every one pressed her breasts against the fabric of a tight black tank top. That was distracting.

"I know. I didn't do it on purpose."

"I didn't figure ya did. I…where'd ya come from?"

"Originally? Or just now?" Sinclaire was well aware that he hadn't moved.

He was still holding her to the ground and she couldn't catch her breath. At least he would think it was because of the running. It wasn't. It was the same fear that dominated her anytime she was in a situation like this…and something else. A weird lag in her defense system that made her aware his body over hers, his belt buckle pressing into her stomach, his leg between her thighs…

"Just now," he answered.

"Me and the guy I'm with are over there," she nodded up the embankment. "I was running from a zombie."

"Holy fuck! Is it comin' after ya?"

"No. I left it in the dust a while back. I got carried away. I haven't had a good long run in ages," she felt like an idiot.

"So you're just out for a run durin' an apocalypse? What kinda fuckin' moron is your husband?" he knew damn good and well that if she was in his keeping she'd never leave his sight.

"He's not my husband," Sinclaire said quickly. "And he's not a moron…exactly. You haven't told me who you are."

"Ya ain't told me who you are neither," he replied.

"Sinclaire Lewis."

"Daryl Dixon."

"What?"

"Daryl Dixon."

"Oh my God! Daryl the bow hunter? Daryl the socially awkward? Daryl the virgin?"

"What the fuck?" he knew he was staring at her with his mouth hanging open but…seriously, just _what the fuck_? Her face went as beet red as he could feel his going and she closed her eyes.

"Merle Dixon's brother?" she at last managed to ask a question that made sense.

"Yeah…what…how'd ya…what…"

"Merle is the moron who lets me run around during an apocalypse," she informed him.

Daryl scrambled backward, getting her out from underneath him as quick as he could.

"Merle's alive?"

"He is," Sinclaire sat up; Daryl had knelt in front of her.

The poor guy was still red faced. Why the hell had she babbled like that? Merle had to be wrong…there was no way that a man that hot was a virgin.

"Do you want to go see him?" she asked when he didn't move.

"Uh yeah. Sure. I don't know. I guess so."

"You guess so?" she stared at him in shock. "You _guess_ so? We've been through hell to find you…I land on you…you "guess" you might take the time and trouble to see your brother?"

"It's complicated!" Daryl defended himself. "I don't know what he's told ya…"

"He said people in your group left him on a roof in Atlanta…"

"Yeah. And if I know my big brother he ain't back to hand out a big helpin' of forgiveness," Daryl rubbed his hand over his forehead.

"I figured there'd be some yelling," Sinclaire began.

"Yellin'?" he stared at her. "Yellin' won't cover it. He finds out where the camp is and Rick and T-dog will be lucky to die in their sleep."

"So what should I do?"

"I don't know," he sat with his back against the bank of the overhang she'd come sailing off of. "I ain't gonna let him hurt 'em."

"What about them hurting him?"

"Ain't likely. Rick ain't the type. Does Merle know we came back for him?"

"No. You really did?"

"Yeah! Me and Rick. T-dog and Glenn…we all went back. Some motherfucker stole our goddamn box truck…"

Sinclaire felt her face flood with color.

"That was me," she admitted.

"What the fuck?"

"I didn't know it belonged to anybody! I just knew it would carry my supplies. He would have tried to steal it if I hadn't. But Merle was pretty messed up. He said there were zombies after him…"

"What was after him?"

"Zombies…those things…"

"Oh. We call 'em Walkers," he explained. "And wasn't none of 'em anywhere around. Just a few in the lower levels…"

"Huh. Well, he _was_ coming down off the cocaine and he was really dehydrated. Maybe he imagined them."

"Ain't that some shit? Imagined himself into choppin' off his own damn hand," Daryl shook his head and spat into the leaves at his left side.

"You know about his hand?" Sinclaire was surprised.

"Sure. Was the only part of my brother left on that roof."

"I'm sorry you had to find it like that," she wrinkled her nose.

"Hell, it ain't your fault. And I got to freak out a punk-ass gangster with it…so it kinda worked in my favor."

"You…I…did you…what?" she was baffled.

"It's a long story," he said. "Anyway, I don't know. Maybe ya oughta just go on back with Merle and…"

"And what? Daryl, he's not going to stop looking for you. That's what he's been doing this whole time! And furthermore, we're stopping for the winter here. We've got a base camp…"

"And a box truck."

"And a box truck," she agreed. "I'd like to know where you are…"

"What for?"

"Because I've dedicated the last month of my life to finding you!"

"Yeah, but you might tell Merle…"

"Of course I won't. I don't need any more blood on my hands. But…are you really going to avoid your brother forever?" when he frowned she went on quickly, "And anyway…hell and damnation! I've been stuck in a box truck with no one to talk to but Merle for a month! I need intellectual stimulation!"

Daryl looked at her. He figured she was sleeping with his brother. He knew that, if she was, she was the best looking woman Merle had ever managed to get. But why the hell was Merle chatting her up about Daryl's sex life? Or rather his lack of one. That was totally humiliating. But, goddamnit, he wanted to talk to her more. His words seemed to come out at least somewhat the way he wanted them to around her. Maybe that was because he figured she already knew every embarrassing thing there was to know about him.

"All right," he said after a long moment. "We've got a camp over there," he pointed in a westerly direction. "About 5 miles. Ya could drop by sometime. Maybe meet everybody…we could figure out something to do about Merle."

Sinclaire nodded and said, "We're up that way. Near The Last Chance. It's a bar," she explained when he gave her a confused look. "Still a good bit of the good stuff up there too. Maybe you could come have a drink sometime."

Daryl barked out a half laugh and stood up.

"Well…bye then," she said awkwardly. "It was…you know…it was nice to meet you."

"Yeah," Daryl adjusted the crossbow over his shoulder and nodded, looking away from her. "It was."

She started up the bank, gripping some roots and pulling herself up easily.

"Ya reckon ya gonna come by tomorrow?" he called.

"Sure thing bow-hunter," she sat, dangling her leg. "You want to meet here? Walk me over?"

She had long legs. They drew his eye to the rest of her. God what the hell was wrong with him? His brother had probably been all over that.

"Nah," he said gruffly. "I'll probably be huntin'. Just think ya oughta meet everybody else. I'll tell 'em to expect ya."

"Okay," Sinclaire stood again and waved. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Doubt it," Daryl strode off through the woods.

With a shrug, Sinclaire moved away in the opposite direction.

"Where the hell ya been?" Merle pointed at her when she walked up. "I figured ya for a goner."

He felt the knot of tension in his gut dissipate as she shrugged and grinned.

"Just walking, got a little turned around. I'm planning on going out again tomorrow. We need to scout thoroughly. I'll go west. You go east."

"All right, Yank," Merle shrugged and handed her an MRE. "Maybe one of us'll be able to scare up some meat."

"Hope so," she replied.


	13. Chapter 13

Sinclaire lay on her side of the box truck staring at the roof in sleepless thought. Merle had no such problems. He'd finished off the bottle of Jack and was currently sleeping like a baby. She'd been surprised and happy to discover that he didn't snore. She hated that sound. Merle was a quiet sleeper and, other than the fact that they'd woken up closer than strictly necessary a few times due to their habit of stretching out in sleep, she didn't really mind sharing the back of the truck with him.

She sighed. Daryl Dixon was not the man she'd thought he'd be. Where were the glasses? Where was the stutter? Merle's description rang so untrue that she would have been convinced she'd landed on the wrong Daryl Dixon if it hadn't been for the accent and the crossbow.

And the fact that he knew very well what Merle was capable of. She'd wondered what kind of revenge Merle would take if he found the people responsible for his lost hand and his separation from his brother. His surprisingly attractive brother. She shook her head as if to dislodge the thought. It didn't matter if Daryl Dixon was the sexiest man since Murphy MacManus, what mattered was that his loyalties were obviously divided. Hers were not.

She glanced over at Merle; the stump of his right hand rested just at his belt buckle and his left hand cradled his head. Perfect? No. The man she'd defend with her last breath? Surprisingly yes.

She planned to meet the survivors and find out their feelings about Merle before she tried to re-integrate an angry redneck into what was left of society. Sinclaire sighed and rolled onto her stomach. Tomorrow's walk would be pretty long. Daryl had said five miles to the camp. And she wasn't even exactly sure where it was. Merle had been right about one thing. His brother wasn't much of a talker.

Daryl waited until most of the group had gone quiet as they usually did while they were eating.

"Met somebody today," he said casually, chewing his deer meat methodically.

"What?" Glenn stared at him. "Who? Where?"

"Ya ain't worried about how and why?" Daryl drawled with a half grin.

"That too," Glenn replied.

"A woman named Sinclaire Lewis…" he began.

"Sinclaire Lewis?" Dale repeated. "A _woman_ named Sinclaire Lewis?"

"There a reason a woman shouldn't be named Sinclaire Lewis?" Daryl asked.

"Sinclair Lewis was…never mind," Dale let it go. "Go on."

"Yeah well that's her name," Daryl shrugged. "She's got her a camp set up back from us. I told her to come over and meet everybody."

"What the hell for?" Shane cut in with a hard look. "We barely got enough to feed ourselves…"

"Didn't realize I had to ask permission _Officer_," Daryl snarled. "She ain't askin' for nothin'; what's the fuckin' problem?"

"The fuckin' problem is that she's probably not alone!"

"Yeah she is," Daryl wondered why he was lying. Sinclaire would just blow it when she showed up. "She's all by herself."

"We've been doing okay on supplies," Rick said in a moderate tone. "And it wouldn't hurt to add to the group. If that's what she wants."

"Well she oughta show up here at some point tomorrow; I reckon ya can ask her," Daryl took another bite of venison, his way of ending the conversation.

After supper he went to his tent…well it wasn't really his alone. He and Glenn shared because there weren't enough tents to go around. He was laying on his back with his arm over his eyes when the kid came in and sat down. He could feel him staring.

"Go ahead; ask me," Daryl sighed after a moment.

"What's she look like?"

"A woman."

"What kind of woman?"

"Hell, you'll see her tomorrow. You can wait."

"What color's her hair?"

Daryl propped onto his elbows and stared at Glenn.

"You fuckin' serious? It's been how long since ya seen a woman who ain't Lori, Andrea, or Carol and you're askin' about her damn hair?"

Glenn shrugged and said, "I was going to get you started and then go from there."

"Brown hair, brown eyes, kinda dark skin…nice rack."

"So you noticed that did you?" Glenn raised an eyebrow.

"Couldn't help it," Daryl said, and then for shock value, and the pleasure of bugging the kid, "She was underneath me."

"What?"

Hell yeah, it had been worth it. Glenn's jaw had dropped and his voice had fuckin' squeaked. Daryl laughed briefly and nodded.

"She fell offa the embankment. She landed on me; I thought she was a Walker, flipped her over…damn near killed her."

"Wow," Glenn sat silent for a long moment and then said, "Underneath you huh?"

"Yeah."

Daryl thought back about it. God she'd felt good there. It was stupid, but he'd really never had a woman in that position before and the memories of her curves and her softness against his body were…

"You must like her," Glenn said with a grin as he turned off the lamp, plunging the tent into darkness.

"Why ya say that?" Daryl asked.

"You're smiling like an idiot," Glenn informed him.

"Ya waited to say that till the damn light was off 'cause ya think I can't kick your ass in the dark," Daryl said. "Ya should know that ain't true."

"Okay, so not like an idiot," Glenn amended. "But you were smiling."

"Was not."

"Were so."

"Goddamnit, go to sleep," Daryl growled.

"Good night to you too," Glenn replied.

After a while Daryl heard Glenn's breathing deepen into the regular rhythm of sleep. Finally some quiet. He really took the time to think about the fact that his brother was alive for the first time. Not just alive, but really looking for him. It was sort of unbelievable. Daryl wondered cynically how much of Merle's motivation had simply been revenge. Maybe finding Daryl was just a by-product.

At the same time, he was so eager to see him that he actually half sat up, itching to pull on his boots and head to their camp. He forced himself to lie back down. For one thing, walking up on his brother's camp in the middle of the night was likely to get him shot and for another, he hadn't been totally honest with Sinclaire.

It wasn't just about protecting Rick and T. It was about protecting Merle. No one in the camp had ever been a real big fan of his brother and with everything that had recently happened he didn't want to add to the situation. Merle might not even get a chance to open his mouth before Shane or his new little protégé Andrea put a bullet in his brain.

Daryl sighed. He wasn't real great at nuances and balancing acts. He kind of wished he'd agreed to walk Sinclaire over. Maybe she was better at this sort of thing. Oh well, it was too late now. And he'd said he was going hunting…and he wasn't sure he wanted to face her again just yet with that whole "virgin" thing hanging over his head in bright neon thanks to his big brother. He planned to talk with the group after she left and then probably go check out their camp in the evening. Daylight would last long enough since it was still summer. One day wasn't long, but it was long enough. Of everyone who'd lost family, he'd be the first since Rick to get it back.


	14. Chapter 14

"Found somethin' you're gonna like," Merle said that morning as they waited for some water to boil.

"Oh yeah?" Sinclaire smiled at him and he nodded back.

"Come on, I'll show ya."

He led the way back to the Last Chance and opened the door.

"I think it's a little early for drinking."

"First thing, it ain't somethin' to drink. Second thing, that's a Yankee attitude if I ever heard one. Never too early for drinkin'."

He opened the door to another room in the bar and pointed. There was a bathtub sitting in the middle of the floor. Sinclaire laughed.

"Why is there a tub?"

"Why not?" Merle questioned.

"It's not even hooked up to any plumbing," she pointed out. "Is this another Southern thing?"

"Probably," he admitted. "It was probably for drinks…fill it with ice and Bud…but the point is, it's watertight which means you can take a bath."

"I _can_ take a bath!" Sinclaire's face lit up. "Merle Dixon, you're my hero!"

She'd put on her horrible southern accent again and he punched her lightly in the arm.

"Now that I been so nice to ya," he said, "What you gonna do for me?"

"I'll make your breakfast."

Intrigued, he followed her back out. Sinclaire made a big show of opening an MRE and handing it to him with a flourish.

"See how much I care Merle? I opened it and everything. Just because you're so good to me."

"Smartass Yank."

Sinclaire and Merle had a leisurely breakfast and then he nearly gave her a heart attack by volunteering to come with her west, instead of going east on his own.

"You don't trust me to scout do you?" she asked.

"It ain't that," he began.

"Yeah right. You think that because I'm a woman I won't do a good job! You still don't trust me!"

Several minutes of that, including interrupting every sentence he started earned her the result she wanted.

"Christ almighty! Go by your damn self then! If ya get bit I don't wanna hear a fuckin' thing about it when I have to put a bullet in your brain!"

He stomped off, still muttering. She grinned to herself briefly. He'd be over it by nightfall, and she had recon to do. She'd bring back a rabbit to soothe his temper or something.

She checked her vest for ammo and then set out west. She wished Daryl had done more than vaguely point west, but the dye was cast on that, so she walked on hopefully. She'd gotten such a late start that she figured they thought she wasn't going to show up.

Sinclaire was wondering what Daryl had told them about Merle when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Zombie or rabbit?

Daryl walked along, thinking that Sinclaire ought to be at camp by now. It shouldn't be too hard to stay out until she would be headed back to her own camp…

"Pssst! Bow-hunter!"

He glanced toward the sound; she was sliding down the embankment and giving him a smile.

"Ya got a fuckin' late start," he informed her.

"Are you going hunting?" she asked, rather than addressing his comment.

"Yeah."

"I think I'll go with you," Sinclaire gave him another smile.

"But I don't…I don't think ya really wanna…"

"Sure I do. If I don't bring back some game, your big brother's going to be mad at me."

They walked deeper into the woods quietly for a while and then she got up her nerve and said, "I wanted to tell you something."

"Yeah?" he kept his gaze on the ground, but then she stopped so he had to turn and look at her.

"I shouldn't have said what I said," she admitted. "I'm sure it was embarrassing and…"

"I know how Merle talks about me when I'm not around," Daryl cut in. This was the last thing in the world he wanted to talk about with her.

"Well, still. I shouldn't have…you know…called you out like that. If it makes you feel better I said it with incredulity."

"With what?" he stared at her.

"I didn't believe it was true."

"Ya don't?"

The relief that covered his features erased all traces of doubt actually, but Sinclaire just shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Nah."

Maybe there was a God. Daryl actually found himself smiling again. They walked along in silence, Daryl's relieved, Sinclaire's mildly amused.

"I'm thinkin' I might walk back over with ya," Daryl said a while later.

"Concerned for my safety?" she asked with a sideways smile.

"No. Not…no…there's more to it than that," Daryl scowled when her grin only got wider. "How fuckin' long has my brother had to put up with you?"

"A little more than a month," she answered. "And he's used to me by now. I've got my charms."

Daryl figured she had a few that Merle was interested in, and they sure as fuck weren't her eyes and smile.

"So?" she asked again. "Why the sudden urge to be chivalrous?"

"I wanna see my brother," he answered. "That shouldn't be too hard to understand."

She shrugged. "You didn't see so eager yesterday."

"I was thinkin'," he snarled. "I have to ask how high when ya say jump."

All she did was shrug again. Further silence dragged on. Daryl scratched a mosquito bite on the back of his neck and wondered what he should say. What did she and Merle talk about?

"Something smells good," Sinclaire said suddenly.

Daryl sniffed and said, "Muscadines."

"What's that?"

"Where ya from that ya don't know that?" Daryl suddenly realized that she lacked the southern accent everyone else in the group had.

"Pennsylvania," she answered. "Now that's a big difference between you and Merle. He picked up on my accent right away."

"Merle hates Yankees," Daryl informed her as he scanned the landscape, looking for the muscadine vines. He wanted a muscadine almost as much as he wanted to watch Sinclaire eat one for the first time.

"Is there anybody Merle likes? I mean right away?"

"Guys with bikes," Daryl replied, finally locating the vines and beckoning her to follow him up the small embankment. "They would be growin' in the hardest place around here to reach," she heard him mutter under his breath.

"So that's it? Guys with bikes?" Sinclaire scrambled up after him eagerly. The good smell was stronger here and she saw what looked like large black grapes dangling from vines all over the oak tree Daryl stood by. Her mouth watered and she swallowed hard at the wonderful thought of eating something that wasn't an MRE.

"Hookers," Daryl answered, reaching up and tugging a bunch of muscadines down. If Merle was gonna run his mouth about peoples sex lives, Daryl figured he'd return the favor.

Sinclaire laughed and said, "Yeah he told me about that."

She could tell that had surprised him, but all he did was pull the largest muscadine off the stem and pop it into his mouth. He tugged another off and tossed it to her. Sinclaire popped it between her lips and bit down.

Daryl grinned when her face contorted and she spat, gasping, "What the…it's…it's like a mouthful of snot!"

He casually spit out the seeds and the skin of the fruit as he swallowed the rest.

"Takes some gettin' used to," he admitted.

"You're an evil man."

He only put another muscadine in his mouth and raised his eyebrows. She held her hand out with a sigh. He put another muscadine into her palm and watched as she ate it determinedly.

"At least it tastes good," she said grudgingly after a moment.

"Yeah. They make wine with 'em," he told her. "Ya got anything we could put 'em in? Thought I might bring some back…the kids oughta like 'em."

"There're kids?"

"Yeah. Rick and Lori's boy Carl and Carol's daughter Sophia. Ain't kids supposed have fruit every day?"

"Everybody is," Sinclaire answered.

"Ain't kids supposed to have more?"

She shrugged and he looked at her in disbelief.

"I don't have kids!" she defended herself. "You Dixon's certainly have a fairly set view of womanhood."

"Merle give ya his speech about a woman's place?" Daryl asked with a half grin as she handed him a medium sized drawstring bag from a pocket in her vest.

"He tried," she admitted stretching up and pulling some of the muscadines down. "We had an argument."

"How much luck did ya have with that?"

"We agreed to disagree," she said with a reminiscent smile. Anyone would have said she was crazy, but she'd thoroughly enjoyed that fight. "Part of our "never go to bed angry" clause."

"Ya got Merle to agree to never go to bed angry?" Daryl was in shock.

She shrugged, "Agree…put up with…same thing. Actually I shouldn't have made the deal because it just means that we have to fight all night. He wins more when I'm tired and the bastard knows it."

"Ya'll really get along?" Daryl concentrated on the vines, twisting them free of briars so he could reach more fruit.

It sure sounded like she got along with Merle better than he ever had. Maybe better than anyone had. It would sure as hell prove that theory about there being someone for everyone.

"For the most part," she confirmed. "Nobody gets along all the time."

"Especially not with Merle," Daryl muttered to himself.

"And what about you?" Sinclaire asked. "What kind of people do you like?"

"I don't like people," he replied automatically.

"You must be having the time of your life."

"I wouldn't put it like that," he went on. "But I'd like the quiet if it wasn't for the damn Walkers."

Sinclaire figured that was his way of suggesting that she shut up, so they finished filling the bag in silence. The quiet began to grate on Daryl's nerves. He'd gotten so used to the others in his group that he'd forgotten how it felt to have to get to know someone. Not that he'd ever been comfortable with it in the first place.

"I piss ya off or somethin'?" he asked as she slung the bag over her shoulder.

"No," Sinclaire answered, honestly confused. "Why would you think so?"

"Ya got all quiet," he shrugged. "I figured…"

"No," she repeated. "I assumed you wanted the quiet. Believe me, if you pissed me off you'd know it. Are we going back to your camp now?"

"I'm supposed to be huntin'," he hedged.

"You did," she grinned at him. "You hunted berries."

Daryl couldn't keep from returning the smile, even though he kept it as small and short as possible. He walked back down the embankment and then turned, holding his hand up for her.

She raised her eyebrows and he made his voice impatient as he said, "Just don't want ya fallin' on me again."

"The greater tragedy would be that I would squish all the snot-grapes," she said taking his hand and jumping down.

Daryl choked back a laugh.

"Oh come on," she said. "I'm funny as hell, so you might as well get used to it."

"I didn't tell 'em about Merle," he admitted abruptly. "Just told 'em about you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just thought it might sound better coming from you."

"Well…" she didn't say it out loud, but she thought he was probably right, especially if his temper was as quick as Merle's. "Tell me about them. And try to be as honest as you can."

"Ya think I'm a liar?"

Yep, his temper was just as quick.

"I didn't say that. It's just that all the intel I have comes from Merle, who is quite understandably biased. And," she went on when Daryl started to say something. "I'm more inclined to believe that he's a little biased because you're still with the group. If they were the insufferable dickheads he claims they are, I'm assuming you would have cut out by now."

She had cut down all his objections in about three sentences.

"All right," he said grudgingly, "Rick Grimes is kinda the man in charge…"

Daryl told her about the group as they walked and she listened intently. Any information could turn out to provide her with an advantage. When they were within sight of the camp, Daryl took a breath and said, "Good luck."

"It'll be fine," Sinclaire said confidently.

Daryl let her walk just a bit ahead of him and watched her confident entry into the camp. Activity stopped gradually as the others became aware of her. A man in a sheriff's hat and another man with a shaved head approached.

"I'm…" the man in the hat began.

"Rick Grimes," she said holding her hand out. "And you must be Shane Walsh."

"This is Sinclaire Lewis," Daryl said, "The one I told ya'll about."

"Well, it sure is nice to meet another survivor," Rick gave her a smile.

The other man just appraised her with insolent dark eyes; she held his gaze until something flickered in his and then she returned Rick's smile and agreed that it was nice indeed.

"I need to talk to you all about something serious," she said abruptly.

"First thing I'd like to know is why you bothered with our little camp at all," Shane ignored her request.

"What I have to say will answer your question," she replied, barely meeting his glance. "But I'll be damned if you get a sneak preview. I definitely need to see you, Rick, and I'll need T-Dog and Daryl. The rest of the group is at your discretion…I don't mind if everyone sits in, but we're going to have a reasonable discussion. You tell me who you think can participate in one and then we'll meet over there."

She pointed to a nearby stand of trees and then walked off.

"Who the fuck does she think she is?" Shane asked. "You are not having this meeting without me, Rick."

"If you want to join in, you're more than welcome," Rick answered. "It must be pretty serious."

In the end, the meeting was everyone but Lori, Carol and the kids, which Sinclaire had pretty much expected. They'd traveled together this whole time; they were likely as committed to each other as she was to Merle.

"Daryl told you I was traveling alone," she began. "That's not true."

"You lied?" Shane fixed an accusatory look on Daryl.

"Fuck…" Daryl began.

"I wasn't done," Sinclaire cut in sharply. "Are you interested in hearing me or not?"

"Yes," Rick said after a moment and a quelling look at Shane who snorted softly.

"I'm only travelling with one other person and the person I'm with doesn't know about you. I am currently camping about 5 and a half miles from you with Merle Dixon."

The silence that followed the sentence was a little anticlimactic. So maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She and Daryl were just exchanging a look when Shane lost it.

"Are you fucking crazy?" he asked in a near yell. "He never was exactly balanced and now you brought your crazy brother right back to us? I'm surprised some of us lasted the night before I had to kill him!"

"Hey! Ya ain't gonna fuckin' raise a hand to my brother," Daryl jumped to his feet, facing Shane.

"I said he doesn't know about you," Sinclaire made her voice calm, a studied contrast to Daryl's yell. "Weren't you paying attention?"

"He'll know as soon as he walks up into your camp," Shane pointed at Daryl. "And then he'll be down here for them. Hell, probably for everybody!"

"I wouldn't let him hurt you," Sinclaire said.

Shane laughed and went on, "And just how are you going to stop him? Huh? What are you going to do? Bat your eyelashes and ask your boyfriend oh so nicely to please forgive us for leaving him to die? Or are you going to try to tell us he's a changed man who wouldn't hurt a fly?"

Everyone in the group was surprised by Sinclaire's reaction. She laughed. She laughed until she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

"Merle Dixon? A changed man?" she asked when she could finally manage words. "No. No, not by a long shot. He still hates you. That's why we weren't stupid enough to just tell him to come on over. Reintegration would be slow and you guys would have to be on your best behavior…an apology wouldn't hurt."

Shane snorted again, but T-Dog said, "I owe him one. That's why I went back."

"And I know there's more to it than what Merle has told me," Sinclaire raised her eyebrows at T-Dog. "But just so you all know…if it comes down to sides, I'm on his. Not because I'm a racist bitch, because I'm not. And not because he's my boyfriend, because he's not," she leveled her gaze on Shane briefly. "But because we've been together this whole time and he's saved my life more times than I can count. Also, though he's far from being a changed man, he is a sober one so that's something for you to think about. And finally, just so there's no confusion…I'm a Captain in the United States Army. I can and will kill anyone or anything that gets near my camp without permission. I shoot first and ask questions later; it's a big part of the reason I'm still alive."

She let the group digest the information in silence and then said, "It was good to meet you all. I'm going to head back to my own camp now. You coming?"

The question was directed at Daryl, who nodded silently.

"Wait," Glenn spoke up. "Are you sure he'll be…you know…safe? Or what if Merle follows him back?"

"Merle wouldn't hurt me," Daryl scoffed, hoping to God it was true. "And I reckon Sinclaire can manage to keep him from followin' me back."

She nodded confidently and added, "We're figuring out his feelings for your whole group. I know him pretty well…Daryl knows him best of all. If he's not going to be safe, then I'll see what I can do to convince him to maybe move on. Or I'll let you know that you should pull up camp and move along yourselves."

"We were here first," Shane crossed his arms.

"American history should prove exactly how much weight that statement holds," Sinclaire replied sarcastically. "I want to head out before dark. If I'm welcome, maybe I'll come back sometime and let you know how things are going?" she directed the question to Rick who nodded.

"We'd love to have you. I might like to go up and talk to Merle myself one day. Maybe you can let me know how it goes?" he asked Daryl.

Daryl jerked his chin in a short nod, handed Rick the bag of muscadines and then he and Sinclaire headed off into the woods again.

A/N: This chapter was a bit Daryl heavy…not that I don't enjoy writing about him! But, I promise this isn't going to turn into just another Daryl story. Merle is still the main character, I swear lol


	15. Chapter 15

She and Daryl picked up the pace through the woods; she really had gotten a pretty late start and then with the berry picking and the conversation, she was afraid she wouldn't make it back before dark.

"So you're spending the night right?" she asked offhand.

"What?"

"You aren't going to walk back at night are you?"

"I ain't scared of the dark."

"Are you sure? Even when it's full of things that bump?"

"They don't bump; they shuffle. But I reckon I can stay if that's what ya'll want."

"I don't mind. Actually it might be easier to keep Merle here if you stay," she said, thinking out loud.

"Yeah, you're probably right about that," Daryl agreed. Then he cleared his throat and looked away from her as he asked, "He's really been lookin' for me?"

"Yep," she confirmed. "He woke up in the truck talking about you; he lost his temper at every significant delay, and he was really pissed that we decided it was best to stop for the winter. He's missed you in his own weird Merle-ish way."

Sinclaire didn't expect an answer so she wasn't disappointed when Daryl fell silent again.

"Ya really an Army Captain?" he asked some time later.

"Yes," she replied. "I've been in the Army since I was 18…just got my first command."

"How old are ya?"

"29."

"Ya look younger than that," he informed her.

"If you meant that as a compliment, thanks," she answered.

Further silence. Sinclaire thought that Merle's assessment of Daryl's communication skills had been right on. What the hell would a month and a half have been like with him?

She was surprised when he suddenly swung the crossbow free of his shoulder and brought it up, aiming and shooting quickly. She heard something fall and he walked over, pulling the bolt free of a wild turkey. Well. Maybe a month and a half with him would have made rationing the MRE's easier.

"You're really good at that," she complimented him as he cocked the bow again.

Daryl shrugged and said, "Gotta eat."

"I wanted to hunt rabbits," Sinclaire said, "But they're too damn fast. Any advice?"

"Yeah," Daryl wanted to grin with relief. The silence between them always felt awkward…he swore he could feel her comparing him to his brother. "What's better than shootin' 'em is trappin' 'em…"

She listened with interest as he explained the traps.

"Sounds pretty easy," she said, pointing to the left and smiling when her camp came into view.

"Yeah," Daryl said again. "It is."

He was suddenly so nervous he was worried he was going to start to shake. He'd be seeing his brother again. His brother who, for the first time in a long time, wouldn't be all fucked up. He gripped the strap of the crossbow until his knuckles turned white.

"Hey Merle?" Sinclaire called out.

There was no answer. She went and checked the box truck but it was empty. Then she walked over to the bar and opened the door. "Merle?" Sinclaire turned to Daryl who'd followed her onto the bar porch. "He must still be out. Want a drink?"

"What?"

"A drink, there's still plenty of the good stuff," she informed him.

"Uh, sure…I guess so."

The question was so normal that Daryl hadn't quite known how to answer it. Sinclaire ushered him in with a grand sweep of her arm and another of her pretty smiles.

"I'm going to leave the door open," she said. "That way Merle will know we're in here. Just keep an eye on it so we don't have any surprise visitors."

He nodded; she walked behind the bar and raised her eyebrow.

"Do you have problems drinking liquor poured by a Yankee or do I have to put on my awful Southern accent?"

Daryl started to shake his head, but at the last minute he said, "Lemme hear it."

"What can I getcha sugar?" she asked.

He gave a quick laugh and said, "Whatever ya feel like pourin' as long as ya don't do that again."

"I'll stick with gin," Sinclaire said, half to herself as she poured, "Champagne is just…"

"Ginger ale that knows somebody," Daryl finished in surprise. "That's from…"

"M*A*S*H," Sinclaire and Daryl said at the same time.

"Merle never gets any of my quotes," she explained, tossing her drink back.

"Yeah? Well…ya probably don't quote boxin' or monster trucks," he informed her, sipping the drink she'd poured. Contrary to the quote, it wasn't gin, it was whiskey.

"I can't say that I do. So you're a movie buff?"

"I guess ya could say so," he shrugged. "Not much else to do where I'm…where I was from."

"Hey, we could play a shot game while we wait on Merle," she suggested. "Movie quotes. If you can't guess you have to drink."

"Sounds good to me," Daryl knew it wouldn't be a good idea to get drunk…but he also figured he wouldn't be drinking much. He watched an awful lot of movies. "Ya can go first."

"Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" she asked, pouring the next shots.

"Batman. Lesson number one: don't underestimate the other guy's greed."

"Lesson number two: don't get high on your own supply. Scarface," Sinclaire finished the quote before giving her answer. "Okay…let's see…" she went for a hard one. "If they ever try to trace any of those accounts, they're gonna end up chasing a figment of my imagination."

"The Shawshank Redemption," Daryl said without even taking a moment to think. "One of my favorite movies."

"Damn."

"That's a pretty fucking good milkshake. I don't know if it's worth five dollars but it's pretty fucking good."

Sinclaire wracked her brain for a good minute and a half. Daryl tapped his fingers on the top of the bar.

"Damn," she whispered again, conceding defeat and taking the shot.

"Pulp Fiction," Daryl informed her.

"That's right Mr. Martini, there is an Easter bunny."

He frowned in deep thought. What the hell kind of fucked up… "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest!"

"I really thought I had you there," she admitted.

"For a second ya just about did. All right, here ya go, "Boy, I got vision and the rest of the world wears bifocals."

"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," she said in triumph. He was going to drink damn it! "Here's something for you, bow-hunter, "Oh Donny! You couldn't kiss me like that and not mean it just a teensy bit!"

"What the fuck?" Daryl stared at her but she only wriggled her eyebrows. He drank.

"Singin' in the Rain," she said smugly.

Daryl decided to play dirty. In the end, Sinclaire was pretty drunk, but not as drunk as he'd meant for her to be. She'd gotten the quotes from Bladerunner, Goodfella's and The Terminator. He'd only missed two more, one from Big Fish and another from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

She was laughing over his latest challenge, "You can't do this to me! I'm an American!" not because she didn't know where it was from, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom as a matter of fact, but because the line had been from the female lead and he'd made his voice higher to accommodate it, when they heard a distinctive drawl from behind them.

"Well, well. Ya wanna tell me just how the fuck this happened?"

"Hey Merle," Daryl said.

"I found him!" Sinclaire gestured widely; Daryl hastily picked up his shot glass.

"Ya by yourself?" Merle asked, still standing in the doorway.

"Yeah," Daryl answered.

"What happened to the rest of 'em?"

"Back at their own camp," Daryl replied.

"Really Merle?" Sinclaire asked in surprise. "You aren't even going tell him hello? No hugs?"

"Fuck no," Merle and Daryl said at the same time.

"Well this is barely worthy of a lifetime moment. It's a real let down," Sinclaire looked let down, Merle noticed.

Her pretty mouth had drooped into a pout and she'd crossed her arms.

"She drunk?" Merle asked.

"A little," Daryl answered over Sinclaire's denial.

"What the fuck ya gettin' her drunk for?" Merle eyed Daryl suspiciously.

"I ain't gettin' her drunk!" Daryl replied indignantly. "She's just losin' a bet."

"What's the stakes?" Merle went on. It was weird, but he was feeling oddly protective of Sinclaire just now.

"There ain't…" Daryl began, but Sinclaire cut in.

"We were just passing the time. HE doesn't make me do the accent before I pour his drinks, just so you know."

"Where's the fun in that?" Merle stepped in and closed the door. "How 'bout one while we're talkin'?"

She poured him one, but when she started to refill her own glass, he put his hand over it and then gave her a bottle of water.

"It's hot," she complained.

"It's been in my pocket all day sweetheart," Merle drawled. "And I don't know if you've noticed, but that ice machine ain't workin'."

"Ya could put 'em in a box and sink it in the river," Daryl said. "They'd stay cold that way."

"Yeah, thanks Daniel Boone," Merle answered. "Ya gonna tell me where that camp's at now?"

Daryl finished his whiskey and said, "No."

"What the fuck ya mean "no?"

"I mean no. I ain't gonna tell ya where it's at just so ya can go back and kill everybody."

"Fuck, I don't wanna kill everybody! Just Rick and the nigger."

Sinclaire shook her head and Merle said, "T-dog. That better?"

"It's really the murder I was shaking my head about…I tend to worry more about it than about racism."

Merle ignored that and went on, "So? Spit it out little brother."

Daryl just shook his head. Merle banged his left hand down onto the bar. Sinclaire noticed Daryl flinch.

"Ya gonna tell me that you're more loyal to them than ya are to your own family? I'm all ya got left!"

"I ain't choosin' them over you," Daryl stood up to make his point better. "I just don't think ya oughta…"

"What? Ya don't think I oughta pay them back for leavin' me up there to fuckin' bake in the goddamn sun? Or to get eaten by those motherfuckers? I cut off my own damn hand to get off that fuckin' roof, Daryl!"

"I know that! I'm the one who found it! I went back for ya and ya weren't there!"

"Bullshit!"

"It ain't neither! I was there! Glenn nearly fuckin' died on that trip tryin' to find ya so don't tell me…"

"Glenn? What the fuck ya think I give a damn about the chink for?"

"Because he went back there to save you! Ya oughta give a damn about some of that! Me and Glenn and Rick and T-dog all went back for ya…"

"Yeah, and Glenn, Rick and T-dog are the ones who left me there to begin with!"

"Glenn wasn't even there! He was…"

"Why the fuck ya takin' up for him? Ya got somethin' goin' on with the chink Darylina?"

"Jesus Christ Merle!"

Virgin was one thing…gay was something else altogether. Daryl slammed his own fist down against the bar; the shot glass fell over and whiskey poured across the bar top.

"Ya take that back!"

"Or what?" Merle grinned at him. "I can still kick your ass, even one handed."

"Damn it, I didn't come all the way out here to fuckin' fight with ya," Daryl sat back down.

"What the hell did ya come out here for if ya ain't gonna tell me what I wanna know?" Merle questioned.

"Maybe he wanted to see you," Sinclaire pointed out dryly. "Though I can't imagine why…you're kind of a dick sometimes."

"What?" Merle turned and eyed her.

"Now is definitely one of those times," she went on. "The fact is that I don't want more blood on my hands. I don't want you to know where the other camp is. I'm way drunker than I meant to be. Give me a second free of redneck family bonding and I'll think of something logical. Better yet, we could all go to bed."

"What?" this time the question came from Daryl.

"You said you were sleeping here. I say we sleep. I'm drunk. Merle's a dick…you're whatever you are…sleep is what I say we do."

"Fine with me," Daryl agreed. "Ya'll sleep in here?"

"No," Sinclaire took another sip of water and said, "Come on. We'll go to the truck."

"And what's to stop me from just walking over to their camp?" Merle questioned.

"The fact that Daryl drove me here," Sinclaire lied.

"Yeah," Daryl agreed. "I just parked the truck oughta sight."

"Sneaky fuckin' bastard," Merle muttered after a moment. "All right I reckon. But we're havin' this out in the mornin' and I don't give a damn how hungover ya are sweetheart."

Sinclaire executed a crisp salute and they walked to the truck. Everyone lay down in silence; Sinclaire dropped off to sleep fairly quickly. Daryl snuck a glance at her. She and Merle were sleeping next to one another, but they weren't touching. He couldn't figure the two of them out.

Merle saw Daryl's glance, but he didn't say anything about it. He wondered why his brother was being so damn stubborn about the whole thing. He just wanted retribution…it wasn't like those fuckers hadn't done anything wrong. They were the reason he'd lost his hand. Now he was sort of wondering if they'd be the reason he lost his brother too.


	16. Chapter 16

Sinclaire woke up in an awkward position. She and Merle had, as always, stretched out in sleep. In doing so however, they'd collectively shoved Daryl into a corner of the truck. Apparently of the three of them, he was the only economical sleeper. He was curled into a ball and she was dismayed to discover her leg trapped between his. Sinclaire was so suddenly, fiercely panicked that she felt almost sick and, even though she didn't want to wake him, she jerked her leg free so quickly that he shot upright when she did.

She moved backward, away from the questions in his eyes, and bumped into Merle.

"What the fuck…" Merle began sleepily when he felt her body slam against his.

"There are too many damn people in this truck!" Sinclaire knew Daryl could tell she was scared and it was embarrassing; as always, she attempted to cover her embarrassment with an explosion of temper.

She yanked the door open and jumped out, stomping over to start the fire.

"She always this pissy in the mornin'?" Daryl asked, shoving both hands through his hair.

"Nah," Merle answered. "Maybe she just don't like ya."

"She likes me just fine," Daryl replied indignantly.

"How'd ya meet her anyway?" Merle had spent some time thinking about that last night in between plans to either make Daryl feel guilty or beat the shit out of him.

"She fell on me," Daryl said again.

"She _fell_ on ya?"

"Yeah. She was runnin', ran off the hill, landed on me…we introduced ourselves…now I'm here."

"Ya are," Merle agreed. "I kinda thought ya'd be…a goner ya know?"

"Nah. Not me. Not you either. I fuckin' knew better. Always been smarter than you," Daryl gave his brother a hint of a grin.

Merle reached to punch him in the shoulder and then realized he'd have to switch hands. He did so, punched Daryl in the shoulder and then moved to get up.

"How long did it hurt?" Daryl asked.

"Still hurts," Merle barked out. "And I ain't got time to answer your fuckin' questions about it neither. I gotta piss."

He did not want to talk about his missing hand with his little brother. It was one thing to have Sinclaire understand that there were some things he just couldn't do because of it. She'd never known him with two hands. Daryl had.

Daryl watched him leave the truck. He figured he'd said the wrong thing…again. Well, hell, Merle had always claimed that he was too sensitive…maybe it was about time Merle had something to be sensitive about. Daryl stayed where he was, watching Sinclaire build the fire and start boiling some water. Merle came back from the edge of the woods and walked over, speaking to her briefly. She looked up at him and laughed. Why the hell was it so damn easy between Merle and Sinclaire? Fuck. Maybe she _didn't_ like him.

"All right," Merle said, sitting on one of the logs he and Sinclaire had pulled up to the fire pit. "Let's have this out now."

"I can't do much without your extremely tight lipped brother," Sinclaire said. "It's up to him what he wants to tell you."

"Thought ya was on my side," Merle protested in surprise.

"I am unequivocally on your side," Sinclaire said as Daryl stepped up to the fire.

"Damn right," Daryl confirmed. "She's already threatened to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Who'd ya threaten?" Merle asked.

Fuck. Daryl had said too much.

"I met the rest of the group," Sinclaire said casually, hoping Merle wouldn't flip out.

It didn't work. He flipped out.

"Ya been seein' him behind my back ain't ya?"

It wasn't an accusation Sinclaire or Daryl expected. It wasn't an accusation Merle had really expected to make. Oh well, it was out now.

"Ya'll got some kinda Romeo and Juliet bullshit goin' on when you're both supposed to be on my side?" he went on.

Sinclaire laughed and muttered, "Wherefore art thou bow-hunter doesn't have the same ring to it for sure."

Merle glared at her. "And I bet that's why ya acted like such a bitch over me goin' with ya yesterday. Ya knew ya was meetin' up with him."

"That ain't true," Daryl said. "I was doin' my best to not meet up with her again."

"What the hell's wrong with her?" Merle turned the angry glance on his brother.

"Nothin'! I just…I wasn't…god damn it Merle!"

"All right. Maybe everyone could calm down," Sinclaire suggested.

The brothers ignored her.

"Ya sit your ass down and tell me the motherfuckin' truth right fuckin' now!" Merle bellowed.

"I wasn't _not_ tellin' ya the truth!" Daryl defended himself. "Ya were yellin' at me for somethin' different last night…"

"Aw ya gonna cry?" Merle sneered. "Ya shoulda just said…"

"Said what?" Daryl yelled back. "Ya never fuckin' listen! Ya ain't listenin' now! I shoulda known better than to think ya mighta changed your mind…or that ya gave a damn about findin' me. All ya wanted to do was find them!" He spun around and walked off. Then he spun back around and said, "And I ain't gonna cry ya bastard."

"Yeah run off rather than deal with it," Merle called after his brother. "Just like always. That's what's fuckin' wrong with ya! Ya never fight for anything."

Daryl went still, facing away from Merle. He knew that the porch of The Last Chance was right in front of him but he couldn't see it through the red haze clouding his vision. Never fought for anything?

Sinclaire saw the tension practically radiating from Daryl. Merle didn't look concerned. She thought that Merle might not know his brother as well as he assumed…or maybe Daryl had changed in the month and a half they'd been apart. Either way, Merle was the one who looked shocked when Daryl turned back around deliberately.

Sinclaire closed her eyes briefly when the first punch landed. Then nothing other than morbid curiosity forced her eyes open again. She figured Merle was usually the winner of fights like this. They traded hits for a while; she pulled the now boiling water off the fire to let it cool so they could bottle it and then sat down on the log resting her chin in her hands.

She analyzed the fight clinically. Merle outweighed Daryl by a bit, but Daryl had two hands. Merle was obviously the better fighter, even though it was just as obvious that neither of them were trained in this sort of thing. Merle relied on strength; Daryl was faster. She resisted the impulse to cheer for particularly well done hits by either of them, like Daryl's hook to Merle's jaw and Merle's uppercut to Daryl's stomach. She figured that would be distracting.

The uppercut had an unexpected result for Merle. When Daryl doubled over to catch his breath he tackled Merle into the dirt. Merle punched him in the kidney and gained the upper hand for a second.

"Ya learned new moves," Merle grunted.

"Ya think life stopped just cause ya been gone?" Daryl raised his knee, catching his brother right between the legs.

"Fuck! Goddamn it," Merle rolled over, letting Daryl go. "Ya fuckin' pussy."

"Hell, ya do it to me every damn chance ya get," once Daryl was sure his brother wasn't going to move he relaxed, staying on the ground.

They lay next to each other, breathing raggedly. Daryl turned his head and spat blood from the split lip his brother had given him. Merle coughed and then groaned.

"What the fuck ya been doin'?" he asked. "That was a hit worth catchin' little brother."

Daryl laughed and sat up. He was just now aware of Sinclaire's gaze. She gave him a grin.

"I kinda thought ya'd stop us," Merle said as he sat as well.

"Why would I?" she shrugged. "I can't watch it on TV anymore that's for sure. And I figured you wouldn't hurt each other too badly."

"He broke my ribs once," Daryl informed her.

"Good God! Ya never gonna let that go?"

"Hurt like fuck," Daryl protested.

"So?" Sinclaire raised her eyebrows and tossed both of them a bottle of water. "With all that out of your system…are you ready to really talk about this?"

"Yeah I reckon so," Merle agreed, sitting down and taking a sip of water. "Tell me what ya know."

Daryl decided to let her handle the discussion; she was a smoother liar than him without question.

"Rick and T-dog want to talk to you," she began, holding up her hand when Merle snorted. "T-dog understands that he owes you an apology and, on your side or not, Merle you'll never make me believe that either T-dog or Rick left you there maliciously. But…that Shane guy…I don't like him, and I don't trust him."

"He's a real dick," Merle agreed.

"He's more than just a dick now," Daryl said. "I think he's losin' it. Rick's Lori's husband."

"The fuck?" Merle turned and stared at his brother.

"Yeah. Shane didn't take it real well when Rick came back…he lost this job as leader and his woman all at the same time. He ain't been real balanced lately," Daryl went on.

"Wait. Maybe you should tell me about it too," Sinclaire suggested.

Daryl filled her in on the fact that Shane and Lori had a bit of a relationship going when she'd thought her husband was dead. Then Rick had showed up out of the blue and sort of taken over.

"So Shane was banging his partner's woman pretty much the minute he thought the guy was dead?" Sinclaire mused. "Must have been going on before that."

"Why ya say that?" Merle asked in surprise.

"Because, contrary to what men may believe, the average woman's response to a terrifying situation isn't, "Oh please fuck my fears away you big strong man you!" Sinclaire informed them.

"And it's a damn shame," Merle said with a grin Sinclaire's way.

She shook her head, returning his grin before she said, "So? What's the plan?"

"Ya leavin' it up to me?" he was surprised.

She shrugged and said, "I want to hear your thoughts."

"I think I wanna kill 'em," he said.

Daryl sighed. Sinclaire simply looked at Merle with raised eyebrows.

"But I might change my mind," he went on. "After I talk to 'em. Ya said Rick and the nigg…T-dog…had somethin' to say to me?"

"Yeah," Daryl replied. "They both wanna talk to ya."

"Are you really going to listen?" Sinclaire asked. "I don't want to get them up here and have a fight."

"I'll listen till I get tired of it," Merle replied honestly.

"Okay," Sinclaire stood up. "We need to bottle the water and find a box we can sink it in the river in. Bow-hunter? You going to get Rick and T-dog?"

Daryl nodded and headed off in the opposite direction he'd come in from after a brief misstep, remembering Sinclaire's lie about his truck. He'd get back west a little later on.

"Why don't ya call him by his name?" Merle asked as they poured water into the empty bottles they kept for the purpose.

She shrugged and said, "I don't know. I think Daryl, I think actress and when I see him I think crossbow. Ergo…nickname."

"Ya didn't give me a nickname."

"You jealous?"

"Might be," Merle drawled. "I've had ya all to myself this whole time…"

"Well," Sinclaire smiled. "Your brother _might_ be the smoothest talker I've ever met. He could sweep me off my feet at any minute you know."

Merle snorted and pushed Sinclaire in the shoulder. She'd only been crouched so the move sent her onto her ass in the dirt. She flung the water in the bottle into his face.

"Hey!"

"Oh come on! It's not cold," she protested.

"Damn right it ain't cold," Merle informed her. "That water's still hot."

"It's not hot!" she sat up, looking just a bit concerned; the bottle had felt warm…but certainly not hot…

Merle snatched the bottle and upended the rest of the contents onto her hair.

"Whatcha think, Yank?"

"Refreshing," she informed him wryly, wiping water from her eyes. "What do you think we could sink these in?"

"Sink?" he repeated.

"Yeah, like he was saying…"

"Oh," Merle glanced around, then went into the bar. At length he came back with a 5 gallon bucket. "This'll do."

They walked down to the river and filled the bucket with water and the water bottles, then attached a length of rope and sank the bucket, tying the other end to a tree.

"It'll be nice to have cold water," Sinclaire said. "I mean really cold, not just not boiling you know?"

Merle nodded and said, "Nice to have cold beer too."

He'd added several bottles of Bud and one of the few remaining bottles of Jack to the bucket as well.

"You know what I like about you Merle?" Sinclaire asked as they headed back up the embankment.

"What's that Yank?"

"You're always thinking."

She bumped him with her shoulder and he grinned down at her as he replied, "Damn straight honey."


	17. Chapter 17

"Where the hell ya think he's got to?" Merle finally asked the third time he and Sinclaire nearly collided. "And ya could go around Yank."

"You could veer slightly," she pointed out. "I'm the one carrying 5 gallon buckets of water. All you're doing is wearing a path in our lawn." 

He grinned briefly at her phrasing and then resumed his frowning and pacing.

"Shouldn't be takin' him this long. I know he's in walkin' distance."

"I told you he drove his truck," she began but Merle interrupted her.

"And ya lied too," he said. "Two things ya wouldn't know about my brother: he wouldn't hunt real far off from anybody he's tryin' to keep safe and his truck ain't exactly quiet. Even if I'd been too far off to hear him come in, I'd have sure as hell heard him leave. Also, ya didn't leave till damn near noon and ya still got back before I did yesterday. I ain't an idiot."

"Well played," Sinclaire admitted. "Why aren't we fighting?"

"What's the point?" Merle asked with a shrug. "I know why ya did it. But I ain't gonna stand here and pretend I ain't hurt that ya didn't trust me."

He placed his left hand to his chest and gave her a wounded look.

"Well," she said, studying him with her head tilted. "At least you know where your heart should be."

"That's rough, Yank," he protested. "I ain't even killed nobody yet."

"Merle…" she began.

"Ya gonna stand there holdin' that or ya gonna take a bath?"

She sighed, knowing not to push the issue; she was shocked that he'd stayed in camp all night long when he'd known how close and even in roughly what direction the other camp lay.

"I'm going, I'm going," she answered, turning huffily.

She poured the bucket of water into the tub and tested the temperature. It was a bit chilly since she'd filled it mostly with cold water that they'd boiled a few days ago and reserved, but it was good enough and better by far than no bath at all.

Merle had started boiling another pot of water when Sinclaire called to him.

"What?" he asked, turning to see her on the back porch with her hands on her hips like he oughta be doing something.

"Are you coming?"

"Say what?" he asked in genuine shock.

"I need a bodyguard," she said impatiently. "I don't want to have to fight off a zombie hoard naked!"

"Yeah, I see your point," Merle agreed. "Just how close do I get to guard your body?"

"As close as you like…from the other room," she said with a smile.

"Ya did that on purpose," he griped. "I oughta let 'em get ya."

"Pssssh," Sinclaire waved her hand. "You don't want me."

"I'd take ya," he protested. "And ya'd be damn lucky to have me. Gotta start repopulatin' some time…and us Dixon's are made outta good stuff."

"That's a good point," she called back. For all his bluster, Merle had stopped at the door and turned his back. "Maybe I'll repopulate with Daryl."

"Ya got your eye on my brother?"

"I was just joking," she answered as she got in the tub.

Merle didn't reply. He couldn't figure out how he felt about the idea. On the plus side, to repopulate, people had to fuck and it was about damn time his little brother got laid. But then again, he wasn't sure he wanted Daryl practicing on Sinclaire. He wondered why he felt so possessive over her. They were only friends. Was this what it felt like to be friends with a woman? Maybe they fucked with your head no matter what kinda relationship you had with them. He had a sudden craving for his old life, enough drugs to keep him feeling good and a woman he could pay to make him feel even better.

"How long ya gonna take in there?" he barked.

"Longer than this," Sinclaire answered unrepentantly. "What's your problem?"

"Sick of standin' here starin' at the wall," he growled.

"So go pour a drink. It's a little early and I know people will talk…"

"Smart ass Yankee."

She heard Merle stomp away and smack a glass down on the bar. She wondered what his problem was as she shampooed her hair. He hadn't really bitched over nothing in a while now.

She frowned as a new worry overshadowed her wondering about Merle. She'd have to duck under the water to wash her hair. She hated being underwater. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her uneasiness and sank down. As luck would have it, as she rinsed, she remembered Merle's comment of, "I'd take ya."

A shiver wracked her entire body and she sat up with a splash and an involuntary gasp as her lungs spasmed.

"Ya all right?"

"Fine!" she called back, rinsing the last of the soap and shampoo bubbles from her skin and drying off quickly with one of the rough military issue towels she'd tossed into the crates she and Merle had take from her old base.

It wasn't personal. Waking up next to Daryl had produced the same feeling and, while there was nothing wrong with Merle, she thought Daryl had the edge looks wise. She'd still been just as terrified; maybe even more so because she'd never done that before. Not only had they been touching, her leg had been firmly wedged between his and, now that she remembered it, she recalled that her left arm had been around him as well and that his chin had been resting on her head. They'd been positively…cuddly. And then she'd practically crawled into Merle's lap in her hurry to get away from Daryl. All in all, a classy performance.

She dressed in clean fatigues and finger combed her hair. It was nearly shoulder length now, which was her idea of long. There didn't seem to be much chance of getting it cut and styled anytime soon, however.

She was still finger combing and frowning when she stepped into the barroom.

"Whatcha got that look all over your face for?" Merle questioned, knocking back a shot of vodka.

"Thinking about hair," she admitted.

"Hair?"

"Yeah," she sat down at the bar and raised an eyebrow at Merle. He poured her a shot of vodka and she ran her finger around the rim of the glass as she elaborated. "I want a haircut."

"Hell, you and me both," Merle ran his hand over his head and frowned as well.

They both drank morosely for a moment and then Sinclaire put her empty glass down purposefully.

"We need to talk about how this is going to happen," she said.

"How what's gonna happen?"

"This meeting. I meant what I said, Merle. I don't want any more blood on my hands."

"Hell, I ain't expectin' ya to do nothin'," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but if I stand there and let you do it it's just as bad."

"When did ya get so goddamn moral?" he snarled. "Ya didn't worry about leavin' your own damn troops to be eaten alive…"

"Leave them out of this," she tried to keep her voice even, but it shook dangerously.

"I don't see why I should. Ya can let people die to get what ya want but ya won't let me do the same damn thing? Who the hell ya think ya are?"

As he spoke he poured another drink.

"Sure, get drunk. That'll make the whole thing easier," Sinclaire muttered insolently, still trying to calm the rapid pounding of her heart. She never been angrier with Merle, but she knew it wouldn't help to show it.

He threw the glass and she flinched as it shattered against the wall into a diamond shower of futile rage.

"What the fuck ya think I'm gonna do Sinclaire?" he bellowed. "Just let 'em get away with leavin' me there to die? Act like it's all right that I cut off my own damn hand so I wouldn't get eaten or die of thirst? Do ya know what it felt like? Do ya know how long it took? How ya think it feels to saw through every nerve like that? What the fuck ya want from me?"

"I want you to understand that everyone has done something they never thought they'd do since this started," Sinclaire drew a painfully jagged breath and stood up. "I never thought I'd run to save my own neck when my men were dying around me. I guess Rick and T-dog never thought they'd leave a man to die on a rooftop. Glenn probably never thought he'd risk his life for a racist redneck. You didn't even call him by his name and he risked everything to go back for you!" her voice broke on the last word and Merle stared at her in surprise.

"Ya gonna cry?"

The same accusation he'd leveled at his brother. The only difference was the tone. He'd been mocking Daryl; he sounded gruff but worried when asking her.

Sinclaire shook her head and covered her face with both hands. She flinched when Merle's hand landed heavily on her shoulder.

"Calm down," he frowned when the words came out as an order rather than a reassurance. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."

"So many people are already dead," she said quietly from behind her hands. "Don't hurt anyone else. Rick Grimes may be the only person in the world with a family. God, Merle, don't take it away."


	18. Chapter 18

"Well hell, honey," Merle answered. "Of everything that's happened I didn't think this would be the thing that'd make ya cry."

"Fuck you, Merle Dixon. I am not crying!"

It was a little bit longer before she took her hands away and when she did Merle saw that she was only telling half the truth. There were tears in her eyes, but none on her face. His respect for her ratcheted up a bit more; it nearly eclipsed his irritation that he would have to change his mind.

Because damn it, he thought she was right.

And just how the hell was he supposed to admit it without looking pussy whipped?

"Ya know why I even started travelin' with those S.O.B's?" he asked.

She shook her head and opened the back door, heading to the stream in hopes of getting a cold drink.

"It was 'cause I thought mine and Daryl's odds were better in a group," he explained. "And, ya know, I guess I kinda feel the same way about us. Me and you. Our odds are still better in a group."

Sinclaire's heart jumped with excitement, but all she said was, "And the bigger the group the better the odds right?"

"Right," he agreed in relief. She'd fell for it! "So maybe I'll just wait on the zombies to take care of 'em."

"Fitting punishment," she said with a smile his way, pulling the bucket up and checking the temperature of the water bottles.

Not super-cold because she hadn't left them under long enough, but chilly for sure.

"Hey it worked!"

"Fuck yeah it worked," Merle grabbed a bottle and pressed it to his forehead. "Daryl knows all about this shit. If you're gonna reproduce with him…"

"I was joking!"

"Whatever. You're done with me know that ya met him ain't ya? Ya played with my heart and now you're gonna fuck my brother…"

Sinclaire was happy to see that, even though his expression was severe, his eyes weren't. He was joking too. She'd missed this side of him.

"I just can't help it," she replied, tilting the water bottle and taking several long, cool swallows before she purred, "Inexperience is sooo fucking hot."

Merle laughed as he pulled one more water bottle from the bucket before sinking it again. As they walked up the hill, he pressed it to the back of her neck. She squealed and jerked away, giving him a mock dirty look.

"Ya got a damn sexy voice when ya wanna have one, Yank," he informed her.

"What? Yankee accent and all?" she teased.

"Reckon I'm used to it by now," he admitted.

It was nearly dark when Merle said, "Hey. Ya hear that?"

She listened and then nodded. "Is that Daryl's truck?"

"Think so."

A few minutes later an old truck pulled into the clearing and Daryl, Rick, T-dog, and Glenn got out. Everyone looked a bit nervous, but Daryl and Glenn were probably the most visually uncomfortable. Daryl kept fidgeting and Glenn was practically wringing his hands.

"I know you've got to be a bit of a dick to save face," Sinclaire muttered. "But take it easy on your brother and the kid."

"Yeah," Merle nodded. "He looks like he's gonna puke."

"He probably thinks you're going to kill him," she said. "Hi! Welcome to the bar!"

"Hi," Glenn squeaked out.

Merle crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the others.

"Took ya fuckin' long enough," he barked.

Daryl's shoulders hunched briefly, but Rick said, "We had to secure our own camp before we could leave."

"Leave your guard dog on watch?" Merle questioned.

"Yeah, Shane's watchin'," Daryl spoke quickly, before Merle could start throwing out information about wife-fucking. As far as Daryl knew, Rick didn't know and now wasn't the time to get into it. "And Andrea. She's got pretty good with a gun."

"I don't give a fuck if she's turned into Annie Oakley," Merle snarled.

Sinclaire rolled her eyes. If this was Merle's idea of taking it easy on his brother…or maybe it was. They weren't hitting each other at the moment.

"Jesus," Daryl protested. "I was just answerin' your fuckin' question."

Rick held up his hand and said, "We wanted to see you because…"

"I figure ya must wanna apologize," Merle cut in with a smirk.

Rick's jaw tightened, but T-dog said, "That's what I came for. I know you think I dropped that key to get back at you…"

"No," Merle interrupted. "I think you dropped that key 'cause you're a clumsy nigg…"

Sinclaire's boot caught Merle in the back of the leg and she gave him a big smile when he turned his glare on her.

"Clumsy," Merle said again. "And I think you're a pussy 'cause ya didn't stop to help me."

"I couldn't," T-dog said in a level voice. "We all had to be down there…they would have left me too. I panicked and I left you and I've had your blood on my hands this whole time."

Merle didn't know what to say to that.

"And we did come back for you," Glenn pointed out nervously. "We tried."

"Ya didn't try hard enough."

"Aw," Sinclaire said with a pout. "If they'd rescued you, we'd never have met. Isn't that worth a day on the roof?"

Daryl's mouth dropped open when his brother laughed and ruffled Sinclaire's hair, pushing her bangs into her eyes as she smacked his chest with her right hand.

"That's a pretty good point," Merle admitted. "I ended up with an Army Captain, a box truck and a fuckload of supplies. Worked out in my favor anyway."

He tossed the bottle of water to Daryl and Daryl caught it, numbly noticing that it was cold.

"Ya took my advice," he said.

"_I_ took your advice," Sinclaire stressed. "I tend to be the brains of the operation. Even one handed, he's the muscle."

Daryl saw Merle grin down at Sinclaire. This was the brother he remembered before the drug addictions took over. It was weird seeing him again.

"Well…" Rick said, somewhat awkwardly. "Now that we've got that settled…"

"Settled my ass," Merle snarled. "Ya ain't invitin' us back? Ya wanna leave us out here by ourselves?"

"If you want to come back to our camp you can," Glenn answered quickly. "We just…you know…didn't think you'd want to…"

"Calm down," Daryl said in an undertone. "You're squeakin'."

"Sorry."

Daryl thumped Glenn on the back and shook his head.

"Anyway," Sinclaire said. "We'd have to pack up this camp before we could leave…and we've got Jack on ice…well, in river. What do you guys say to a cold drink before we hit the road?"

Daryl was already walking to the stream. Glenn was shaking his head emphatically, T-dog grinned while Rick patted the boy's shoulder and said he could be the DD. Sinclaire followed Daryl after a moment's hesitation. She figured she'd better leave Merle alone with the group and see how it went.

He was hauling the bucket back up by the time she got there. She sat on the edge of the river and looked up at him.

"So they're really okay with him coming back?" she asked.

"Ya think I'd let 'em trap him?" he snapped, irritated for some reason.

"No," she said coolly. "But you've had access to the entire group. I haven't. I want to know the general feelings of the people I'm going to be living with."

"Pretty much the only ones ain't okay with it is Lori and Shane. Lori's worried about Merle's grudge against Rick, can't blame her I guess," he jerked the lid off the bucket and pulled out the bottle of Jack, handed it to her and snapped the lid back down as he went on, "And Shane and Merle never liked each other."

"Alpha male syndrome," Sinclaire said with a nod.

"What?"

"They both seem like guys that like to be in charge…tell other people what to do. Guys like that never get along."

"Reckon so," Daryl agreed. "He seems to like you an awful lot though."

"I like him too," she answered.

Daryl shrugged and tugged her to her feet.

"They say there's somebody for everybody," he replied. "Let's drink."

Sinclaire was startled into silence by that comment. Did Daryl think that she and Merle were…

"Ya comin' Yank?" Merle called from the back porch of the bar.

"I'm getting there!" she called back in irritation.

Daryl poured and everyone (Glenn included after several whispered insults and challenges from Daryl) raised their glasses briefly before drinking. That one drink should have been the end of it, but…hell. Cold alcohol, a bar room, a group of people. No one objected to Sinclaire's second round, or Merle's third. Everyone laughed when the fourth round ended with Glenn's head on his folded arms on the bar top.

"He's gonna be real pissed in the morning," Daryl laughed.

"Now here's what," Merle slurred, putting his arm over Sinclaire's shoulders. "I don't know what your camp's like little brother…"

"Alcohol free," Daryl answered.

"And you've got no buildings," Sinclaire cut in enthusiastically. "And I bet Merle didn't find you guys a bathtub!"

"You're funny as hell when you're drunk," Daryl told her.

"I'm not drunk!" she gave him a smile. "I'm tipsy. Mildly inebriated possibly, but "You're not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on."

"Joe Lewis," Daryl nodded, pouring her another. When she raised her eyebrows he said, "A bartender is just a pharmacist with limited inventory."

"You and your fuckin' quotes," Merle grumbled.

They both shrugged.

"What are you getting at?" T-dog asked.

"Gettin' at the fact that I don't wanna move all my shit," Merle answered. "Why don't ya'll just come here?"

"We can set up the bar with separate rooms," Sinclaire said. "If we can find a home improvement store."

"Passed one on the way in," Daryl informed her, his eyes lighting up. "You're right. We could put up partitions and…he found ya a tub? In here?"

It had just occurred to his alcohol fuzzed mind that she'd mentioned a tub. Sinclaire nodded and patted Merle's left arm.

"My cleanliness is owed entirely to Merle Dixon," she said with a grin. "But the tub isn't hooked up to any plumbing or anything…"

"I can fix that," Daryl said.

"Ya know all about girls and their pipes don't ya little brother?" Merle drawled.

Sinclaire smacked Merle in the chest so hard that he coughed. No one else seemed to notice what Merle had said; Glenn was out like a light, Rick and T were talking about construction.

"That'd be nice of you," she said. Then she raised her voice over the general murmur and went on, "Now. I suggest that you all just stay the night because you seem to lack a designated driver…hey! Whose idea was it to get Glenn drunk?"

"Mine," Daryl finished his drink and shrugged. "He's funny as hell drunk too."

Glenn snored as if on cue and Rick laid the kid down on the floor so he wouldn't fall off the barstool.

"I guess we could sleep in here," Rick said. "Lori's gonna be mad though."

"Worried," Sinclaire corrected. "Men always think we're mad when we're worried. Goodnight. Well…" she glanced out at the sun. "Good afternoon."

She and Merle headed for the box truck. As they lay down Sinclaire enjoyed the gentle rocking motions being drunk produced. She thought Merle was asleep when suddenly he spoke.

"On second thought, maybe ya oughta make a pass or two my little brother's way."

"What? Why?"

"I don't like the way he jokes around with the chink."

Sinclaire giggled.

"It ain't funny! What if he's…ya know…"

"Gay?" she asked, repressing the next giggle in view of Merle's disturbed look. "I don't really think he is."

"Throw that sexy voice his way later on for me. Just so I can be sure."

"Merle Dixon for God's sake!"

"Come on! For me?"

"Fine. I will flirt with your brother when I'm not drunk anymore."

"Aw, you're a good sport Yank. I knew I could count on ya," Merle patted her shoulder and then dropped off to sleep.

Authors Note: I promise I haven't given in and put Sinclaire on the rose covered path with Daryl…Merle's just a little worried. Lol


	19. Chapter 19

Merle woke up in a surprisingly good mood. Was he actually looking forward to having other people in camp with him again? He cast a glance at Sinclaire; she was sleeping on her stomach, one arm under her cheek and the other outstretched. Nah. She was damn good company. It must be the fact that Daryl was still alive. It really was like a weight lifted from his shoulders to know that his brother was close, where Merle could keep him from fucking shit up.

With that thought in mind, he headed off to go pee. The cold steel barrel of the gun on the back of his head when he stood at the river ruined some of his good mood however.

"What the fuck did you do to them?"

"Walsh," Merle said flatly. "Ya got about 15 seconds to…"

"15?" asked another voice, dry and slightly sultry with sleep, from behind him as well. More to the point, from behind Walsh.

"You're feeling awfully generous," Sinclaire continued. "You've actually got about 3 seconds to put that gun down before Merle ends up washing your brains off the back of his neck."

Shane lowered the gun, but as he swung around, planning to disarm her, she dropped slightly and swept his legs out from under him. She also kept the gun aimed right between his eyes.

"Morning," Sinclaire said cheerfully. "Don't you have a camp to guard?"

"Yeah, the fuck ya doin' on my turf?" Merle demanded, barely able to keep from grinning at Sinclaire. He'd wanted to drop that fucker on his ass so many times…

"What's going on here?" Rick asked, from the top of the hill.

"Yer guard dog musta got the wrong idea 'bout why ya'll didn't come back last night," Merle explained. "Tried to fuckin' shoot me. Shoulda known better."

"I didn't know you had a little bodyguard of your very own," Shane gave Sinclaire an uncomfortably long appraisal. "But I guess you need somebody to help you now that you're disabled."

Sinclaire stepped in front of Merle and said, "Choose your words carefully and remember who's on the ground."

She could feel Merle's tension even though they weren't touching. He hated being reminded of the fact that he only had one hand now.

"Sinclaire, he just thought that we were in danger," Rick was using his "calm police officer" voice.

Sinclaire decided two could play at that game. She brought out her "Army Commander" voice.

"As long as you are a guest in our camp you will play by our rules," she barked. "Place your firearm on the ground and get up slowly."

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" Shane asked.

She didn't answer. After a moment and a glance exchanged with Rick and the others who'd gathered around by now, Shane put the shotgun on the ground and stood up.

"I'm the person with the gun," Sinclaire said pleasantly. "Now, I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot. Rick has decided to move the group camp here. I'd hate to have to kick your ass every morning. In other words, "Can't we all just get along?"

Shane snorted and started to walk away. Sinclaire put her hand on the center of his chest, and said, "I'm afraid I'm going have to have an answer. See, if we can't trust you, you can't stay."

"How do I know we can trust you?" he asked, taking a step toward her. If she thought she could intimidate him…

"I didn't kill you. And it would have been so easy," she spoke softly, looking into his eyes.

Merle was the only one who saw the tension in her body. He knew how much she hated touching people.

"Got a deal Walsh?" he cut in. "Or do we escort ya off our premises?"

"How about you don't threaten me and I won't threaten you?" was all Shane would agree to.

"Fair enough I guess," Sinclaire put her gun away and nodded to his shotgun in the grass. "You can get that if you want it. I guess you're here to talk to Rick, so I'll let you do that."

She remembered her promise to flirt with Daryl with an internal sigh. Why did she make promises when she was under the influence?

"Hey," she said, pointing at Daryl. "You…uh…you there."

"Yeah?"

"I need help. Your help. With a thing…"

"Okay…"

Daryl looked as confused as Merle felt. What the hell did she want…oh. The flirting. It wasn't off to a promising start in his opinion, but he decided to give her room to work. Maybe he'd have a chat with the chink.

"Whatcha need help with?" Daryl asked as they walked away.

Oh shit. What did she need help with? And why was it so hard for her to flirt? It wasn't like she was planning to bang him or anything. She could do this. She could flirt damn it!

"Ummmm," she stalled for time, noticing when she glanced at him, that he had a tattoo. "I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Yeah…I got 4 actually," he said.

"Four?"

"Yeah."

Well this conversation was going nowhere.

"So, what I wanted your help with was…" a flash of brilliance hit her so suddenly she was tempted to thank God out loud right there. "I don't really know a lot about edible plants and stuff and I was hoping you did."

"Yeah," he said for the third time, feeling like an idiot. At least she was asking something he knew about.

They walked for a while and he pointed out various edible plants. She was happy when they found a small wild strawberry patch.

"Not really enough to take back," he said.

She plopped down and plucked a berry with a grin.

"Just as well," she said before eating it. "Yum."

He knelt in front of her and did the same thing. The berries were good; he was actually surprised they'd found any this late in the season. They sat in silence for a while and then Sinclaire took deep breath.

"So…" she drew the word out, trying to force her voice into the playful purr that came out so easily when she was only kidding around. "How'd you get so good at all this?"

Daryl swallowed wrong and coughed.

"All," cough, "what?"

"Hunting, foraging…I bet you know a lot about survival."

Was her voice taking on a southern accent? God help her, she thought it was. He was staring at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I do…I don't know where I learned it…ya just kinda pick stuff up ya know?"

"Sure," she scrambled for something flirtatious to say about basic and advanced survival skills and came up with nothing. "Merle's worried you're gay." 

Daryl's mouth dropped open.

"Say what?" he said after a second of stunned silence.

She shrugged and said, "He's wondering because you and Glenn seem to spend a lot of time…"

"Motherfucker!" he could feel his face heating up. This was worse than the whole virgin thing by a mile or two. "I ain't…we…I'm…he's…we're just friends!"

"Well, that's what I told Merle, but you know how your brother is…once he gets an idea…"

Daryl rubbed his face with both hands and groaned.

"So what? What's he want ya to do about it? He expect me to fuck ya right here so ya know it ain't true?"

"Um, no," she scooted back involuntarily. "He just wanted to make sure that you…hell I don't know! He was drunk; I was tipsy…it was stupid. But when I make promises I keep them. I didn't think you were gay by the way…not that there's anything wrong with that."

He snorted a half laugh at the old Seinfeld quote and kept his hands over his face. "First he tells ya I'm a virgin, now this…" he realized belatedly that Sinclaire had also said she didn't believe it. Fuck.

"Look, your sex life," _or lack of it_, she finished in her head, "isn't any of my business…"

"Damn right it's not," Daryl said, in irritation. "Just 'cause you're fuckin' my brother that don't mean…"

"Wait. Just because I'm _what_?" her mouth dropped open.

"Fuckin' my brother," he answered. "What I'm sayin' is…"

"Well, before you say it I just want to know one thing!" she stood up and put her hands on her hips. "What on earth gave you the idea that I'm sleeping with Merle?"

She wasn't sleeping with Merle? He was now confused in addition to being pissed off and embarrassed.

"What gave me the idea?" he repeated, standing up as well. "I don't know…the fact that ya'll share that truck? Maybe I thought ya were sleepin' with my brother 'cause you're _sleepin' with my brother_!"

"Okay, but that's it. We literally sleep together. That's all! I'm not…we aren't…I don't…"

"Ya don't what?" he latched on to the last part, ignoring her flustered look. "Ya don't have sex?"

"No I don't have sex!"

They stared at each other for a second or two. Then Daryl shoved his hands through his hair and said, "What…never?"

"I don't see how my sex life is your business any more than yours is mine," she answered. "Let's just forget this conversation took place okay? You're not gay. You should probably let Merle know."

"Fuck that, let him wonder," Daryl said maliciously.

Sinclaire sat back down, trying to look nonchalant and hoping Daryl would get the message and not question her further about sex. A barrage of unwelcome memories flooded her and she had to swallow hard to keep from crying. What the hell was wrong with her lately?

Daryl ate the rest of the strawberries, since Sinclaire seemed to have lost her appetite. What the hell had she meant by saying that she didn't have sex? Everybody had sex! Well…everybody but him, but that was more bad luck and social awkwardness than a conscious decision. He had a feeling she had a reason. He decided to make it his mission to figure out just what that reason was.

Merle glanced up when they walked back to camp. Glenn bounded to his feet and said, "I'll go see if…"

"Ya ain't gonna go see nothin'," Merle barked. "Ya got a damn job to do. Fuckin' do it."

They were making the fire pit bigger to accommodate the others in the group; Merle left Glenn digging and walked over to his brother and Sinclaire. Daryl punched Sinclaire lightly in the shoulder and said, "Well, I'm gonna go see if Glenn needs a hand."

"Hey…" Merle began, intending to call Daryl back, but then he turned to Sinclaire and raised his eyebrow.

"My best attempts at flirting produced no effect," she said primly and honestly.

Merle nearly lost his temper, but then he noticed that she didn't look quite normal.

"What's the matter with ya, Yank?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Ya look kinda pale…ya not feelin' sick are ya?"

"I…" she was shocked at his attentive expression. "I think I'm getting a headache actually."

"Go on and lay down in the truck then," Merle suggested. "Ain't nothin' happenin' out here I can't take care of."

She started toward the truck and then stopped. She didn't really want to go to sleep just yet. She knew what her dreams would be about in this state.

"Go on," he said again. "Don't want ya pukin' again."

"I really made an impression with that didn't I?" she asked with a half smile.

"Sure as fuck did. Hate it when people barf," he admitted. "Go on…unless ya want me to tuck ya in?"

"I think I can manage," she replied.

Sinclaire lay down in the truck, listening to the sounds of Glenn and Daryl talking, Merle and T-dog's voices mingling in the conversation every so often. She kept her eyes focused on the roof of the truck and she recited the multiplication tables to keep herself awake. She didn't want to sleep…well, to more accurate, she didn't want to dream. She didn't want to risk talking in her sleep, or more humiliating, screaming in fear or sobbing. There were things in her past that should just stay there.


	20. Chapter 20

"I never thought I'd be living in a bar," Sinclaire overheard Andrea tell Carol.

"It's a better set-up though," Dale said, squeezing Andrea's shoulder and giving her a smile.

"Or at least it will be," T-dog corrected. "Once we get to that hardware store."

"We need to make a plan," Rick said, taking a swig of his water. "For how many rooms, where they're going to be…"

He glanced at Sinclaire and Merle, giving them first dibs. She shrugged and looked at Merle. He was the territorial one of their little partnership.

"We got three rooms, and the back porch," he barked. "Ya'll can do whatever ya want, but I ain't sleepin' in the kitchen."

"Does anyone have any experience building?" Sinclaire asked. "Because I have absolutely none."

"We do," Daryl said, gesturing at himself and then his brother.

"I spent a few summers roofing," Shane admitted.

"And I did a lot of the work when we remodeled the kitchen," Rick said, glancing at Lori who nodded in confirmation.

"My mom built us a deck," Sophia piped up suddenly. Carol blushed, but she nodded.

"Okay, so we could partner up," Sinclaire suggested. "One person who knows what they're doing and one person who needs to learn. Is that good with everybody?"

There was a general chorus in the affirmative and she gave the group a smile.

"So…everyone choose your partners."

The grin widened when Daryl pointed at Glenn and Merle scowled. Shane raised an eyebrow at Sinclaire and she nodded, trying to hide her surprise. Merle didn't bother to hide his.

"Now who the fuck's gonna hand me stuff?" he asked.

Lori and Rick had partnered up, Shane and Sinclaire, Daryl and Glenn, Carol and Andrea…

"Lucky you," Sinclaire said, patting him on the shoulder. "You get Dale and T-dog."

At Daryl's suggestion, they all trooped into the bar and began looking around.

"I don't guess anybody has a measuring tape?" Rick asked rather hopelessly.

Daryl turned and walked out to his truck, coming back in a few moments later with a measuring tape, which he handed to Rick saying, "Ya ask, ya measure."

The bar area was pretty big; they discovered that they could make three "bedrooms" in there and still leave room for the bar…a living room of sorts. The bedrooms wouldn't be huge…hell, they wouldn't even be big. But at least people would have walls and doors to call their own. The next room was the pool room and, after measuring, they discovered that they could leave a pool table inside and still fit three rooms in there.

"That's six," Glenn said. "How many do we need?"

Andrea counted quickly and answered, "9."

"There's always the back porch," Rick pointed out with a smile.

"We'll have to see what's at the store," Daryl replied. "Might not even be able to do what we're wantin'."

"So, six rooms," Sinclaire mused. "If Rick, Lori, and Carl share, and Carol and Sophia…"

"Me and Dale," Andrea cut in. "I think I see where you're going with this. Three free rooms and six people."

"Two per room and we'd be fine," Sinclaire agreed. "We could fix the porch later. I was actually thinking of that for a bathroom, if we could move the tub."

"We can," Merle assured her. "Once. It's probably fuckin' heavy as hell."

"We could just keep with our tent arrangements, I guess," T-dog said.

Daryl had a sudden coughing fit as Glenn said, "Me and Daryl and you and Shane then?"

Sinclaire was the only one who knew the coughing was Daryl doing his best not to laugh. She wondered if Glenn knew that Merle thought he and Daryl were an item. If he did then he had the best poker face in history.

"What the…ya'll share a…" Merle began in outrage.

"Anyway!" Sinclaire spoke over him. "We need to figure out who's going to the store."

There was a general discussion about that and the party that would head to the store the next day ended up being Sinclaire because she'd ended up being pretty possessive over "her" box truck, Daryl for the silent weapon edge and heavy lifting purposes, Glenn because according to everyone in the group he was the best for getting in and out of a building without dying, and Rick and T-dog for extra muscle for carrying lumber and an extra gun if things got sticky.

They also decided to take the Daryl's truck in addition to the box truck just in case there was a lot of great stuff. Lori had hopefully mentioned mattresses. Sinclaire tried to remember if she'd passed a mattress store on the way into town. She didn't think so…but now that the idea was there it was damn near irresistible.

They spent the rest of the day muscling two of the pool tables outside and cooking supper.

"Might be the last night we're sleeping in here," Merle said, stretching as he lay down. "Ya gonna miss it Yank?"

"Absolutely," Sinclaire answered with a grin. "The heat, my sleeping bag on metal…" she gave a theatrical sigh. "At least I've still got my roommate."

"Yeah. I wasn't about to share a room with any of those other fuckers…or make ya put up with 'em neither."

"I like them," she said mildly. "None of them seem like bad people really."

"Ya threatened to blow Walsh's brains out this mornin'."

"That was idle conversation," she replied, propping her head on her arm and looking at Merle with an eyebrow raised. "I told you…after being in the Army a woman knows all about Alpha Male Syndrome. And also, he kind of had reason to believe that you'd killed everyone."

"Reckon so," Merle said. "I still think he's a prick bastard though."

"He's probably not someone I'd seek out if I had other options," she admitted. "But we might as well all do our best to get along."

"Why ya think he's wantin' to work with ya?" Merle asked.

She shrugged and answered, "I have no idea."

"Long as he ain't tryin' to get in your pants since Rick came back," he rolled over and put his arm over his eyes. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I let him even think on fuckin' ya."

"You say the sweetest things," she said with a laugh. "And you know Daryl's not gay right?"

"Jury's out," Merle replied darkly. "I've got my eye on him and the chink."

She shook her head before rolling over onto her stomach and closing her eyes as well.

"If you watch _too_ closely people might start wondering about you," she teased into the silence.

"Fuck off Yank."

"Good night, Merle."


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning the group headed out bright and early. To Merle's unspoken relief he saw Glenn get into the box truck with Sinclaire. He returned her wave as she drove off and then turned to observe the group he'd been left with. Merle sighed. He should have gone with Sinclaire.

"What we need to do," Shane began.

"Who the hell put ya in charge?" Merle barked. "If anybody's gonna give orders around here it's gonna be me."

"Why you?" Shane asked, crossing his arms.

Merle spat casually and hooked the fingers of his remaining hand in his belt as he said, "My land, my rules."

"Ain't just your camp anymore though," Shane answered.

"Is this conversation really beneficial?" Dale cut in, watching the men step closer to each other. "All we really need to do right now is go about our daily activities. Our hands are tied until they get back with the supplies."

"That's right," Andrea agreed. "Why don't we get a fire going and some water boiling? Carol? You mentioned laundry right?"

Carol nodded and Merle shrugged magnanimously as he said, "Whatever ya wanna do then."

Sinclaire put her blinker on out of habit when Daryl's truck made a sharp left. When she saw Glenn smile out of the corner of his eye she grinned back.

"Old habits die hard," she said.

Glenn had proven to be good company. He talked a good bit, but he was obviously intelligent so the conversation was good. He'd filled her in on what had happened at the CDC, told her Daryl's reaction to losing Merle, and shared the story of, as he put it, "Walking Among the Dead" covered in "zombie guts."

One of the stories she wanted to hear would be impossible to tell however. She wanted to know how far Shane and Lori's relationship had gotten. Partly because she wanted to know how it would affect the group dynamic and partly because there had been no good gossip for almost two months.

The story, however, was not to be heard because Rick was sitting beside Glenn, chiming in from time to time. Sinclaire liked Rick. He seemed nice, level-headed, and his eyes were so damn understanding! Oh well, maybe she could pawn him off on Daryl on the way back and get the dirt.

Daryl tapped the horn and she glanced right. The Home Depot in all its orange glory stood in an empty parking lot.

"Hey it doesn't even look like it's been looted," Glenn said in enthusiastic surprise.

"I can't imagine that it would be," Rick said. "From what I saw it was mainly gas stations and grocery stores that bore the brunt."

Sinclaire pulled up next to Daryl and T-dog and shifted into park. The doors were closed and locked obviously, but Glenn handled that with no problem. Sinclaire spun the silencers onto both guns; Daryl cocked the crossbow and they went inside.

"Totally creepy in here when it's quiet," Glenn whispered.

"I'd rather it be quiet," T-dog said. "Then you can hear 'em comin'."

"Got the measurements?" Daryl asked, grabbing one of the lumber carts, shoving it toward Glenn and gesturing to T-dog to do the same.

"Yeah," Rick answered.

"Should we split up?" T-dog asked.

"Are you crazy?" Glenn asked. "Have you ever seen a horror movie? The minute we separate we're dead!"

Sinclaire gave Glenn a thumbs up. Daryl coughed the word _paranoid_.

"So…lumber," Rick said.

They loaded up the carts and, even though Glenn gave a dark look, they separated to gather up the odds and ends. Rick, Glenn, and T went to gather nails, bolts, and screws, along with the appropriate hand tools. Daryl headed for the plumbing section so Sinclaire went with him.

"You're really going to be able to fix the tub?" she asked.

"Ya think it's the kinda thing I lie about?" he returned.

She laughed and said, "That'd be a weird quirk. I mean what are you going to do?"

"Hook ya up a drain. Make it easier to empty. Fillin' it'll still be a bitch though."

"Beggars can't be choosers," she shrugged, taking the pipes he handed her and laying them across the lumber. "So how long do you think the whole remodel will take?"

"Whole thing?" he repeated, rubbing his chin. "About a week if we all do nothin' but that."

Sinclaire sighed.

"I guess Merle was wrong then."

"Happens more than ya'd think," Daryl replied. "'Bout what?"

"About last night being the last night in the truck," she answered with a smile.

"Hell, ya can still sleep in there. I'm gonna. Ya'll can just put yer sleepin' bags…"

"Sleeping bags!" she cut in. "That's what I was forgetting!"

"See, that's why I don't like Yankees. They always interrupt ya."

"I haven't made one southern joke, but I might start."

"Make all the jokes ya want; ain't nothin' like a southern man."

"That point is impossible to argue," she conceded. "But what I was getting at was that Lori mentioned mattresses…"

"Mattresses?" he questioned.

"We're getting mattresses?" Glenn's voice came from around the corner.

"No, that's crazy," Sinclaire laughed.

"Ya lost me," Daryl said.

"Okay, not real mattresses. But air mattresses. Those would be nice don't you guys think?"

"Where would we get them?" T-dog asked.

"There has to be a store for that around here somewhere right? We could look for one of those little street maps…"

"Street maps?" Rick repeated.

"Sure!" she headed up front confidently. "There has to be one around here somewhere. Sort of like a "you are here" deal in the mall."

"Southern towns don't have those just sittin' around," Daryl informed her.

"They are all over Atlanta," she said, holding the door for Rick and T, who were pushing the carts.

"_Small_ Southern towns," Daryl stressed. "Look around. All the shit ya don't see is those things."

Sinclaire glanced around for the look of the thing, but the expressions on the men's faces had already told her she was dead wrong.

"Well isn't there some kind of signage? A…a…why are Southern towns so hard to navigate?"

Glenn pointed and Daryl aimed the bow, a dull 'twang' and a wet 'thud' told Sinclaire that their conversation hadn't gone unheard.

"Good shot," she admitted, eyeing the corpse.

Daryl walked over, stepped on the zombie's head and pulled his bolt free.

"We'll be near a town," he explained. "We could keep goin' that way and see if there's some kinda campin' store. Oughta be, this close to a campground."

"I'll follow your lead then," she said, as they began loading up the trucks.

He grinned at her and they headed out. About twenty minutes later they found what they were looking for, a Grady's in a small strip mall.

Sinclaire fist bumped Glenn and they got out.

"Go in slowly," Rick cautioned. "The door isn't locked."

They opened the doors slowly and, to their shock, they heard a cheerful female voice ring out, "I told her it wouldn't take you long!"

A young blonde woman walked around a tall display of camping odds and ends and then stopped in shock when she saw them.

"Just stay calm," Rick said, "We're not here to hurt you. We're just looking for supplies."

"Carrie what…" another young woman, this one dark haired like Sinclaire, stepped up. "Oh my God! Who are you?"

"My name is Rick Grimes," Rick said.

"You're a cop?" Carrie asked. "Is it over?"

Her voice has trembled with so much hope that Sinclaire felt bad.

"No," Rick answered. "I'm afraid not. We were just out looking for supplies."

"Well, we've got plenty of that!" Carrie said, "Ya'll help yourselves."

"What?" Sinclaire was so shocked she couldn't stop the question.

"Yeah, well, maybe not food," the woman amended. "We don't have much of that. But what were ya'll lookin' for?"

"Air mattresses," Sinclaire answered.

"Knock yourselves out," the other woman said. "I'm Tiffany by the way. Nate is going to flip."

"And just what do you mean by that?" Daryl asked.

"He won't shoot you or anything," Tiffany answered. "He'll just yell at Carrie for not locking the door. She should have done that when he went hunting."

"I got distracted!" Carrie protested. "Come on, I'll walk ya'll back to the mattresses."

The store had been looted of course, but mostly all people had taken were the food packs and water bottles. There was still a good cache of air mattresses and sleeping bags. Apparently no one had expected to have to ride this thing out in the great outdoors.

"So how long have you been here?" Rick asked the women.

"Not too long," Carrie answered. "We were in one of the camps…but somehow the infection spread through it…"

"People hid their bites and scratches," Tiffany cut in. "That's how it happened. Nate got us out when things got bad. We came here. I don't know how long it's going to last though, he says the hunting isn't good around here."

"We're staying in a bar called The Last Chance," Glenn said.

"Jeez Glenn!" Sinclaire dropped her head into her hand.

"I mean…we were…" Glenn stammered, clearly trying to recuperate. "Not anymore though! Now we're at…the…um…"

"You're a shit liar," Daryl snorted. "We got work to do and if we don't get ya back soon, my brother's gonna lose his shit," he continued, pointing at Sinclaire.

"Aww, you think he's worried about me?" she asked.

"He's protective of ya," Daryl said. "Got everything ya want?"

Everyone nodded in affirmation.

"Well," Sinclaire said, "It was nice…and surreal…to meet you."

"Ya'll too," Carrie waved and gave Daryl a smile, apparently missing the smile Glenn was giving her.

Sinclaire considered it a good thing that they wouldn't be living together.

The knot in Merle's gut unraveled when he saw the box truck pull into the campground. He was so relieved that he chewed out both his brother and Sinclaire.

"Ya fuckin' get lost?" he asked, the minute Daryl's feet touched the ground.

"No," Sinclaire answered, hopping down out of the box truck. "He actually…"

"And ain't it just like a woman to take half the damn day shoppin'?" Merle drawled. "People here waitin' on ya, and ya just takin' yer merry fuckin' time…"

"You did miss me!" she shot him a smile and jerked her thumb at the truck. "You could get started unloading. We got it all, including," she raised her voice so Lori could hear, "Air mattresses and a few manual pumps."

"Really?" Lori's eyes went wide. "I can't believe it!"

"We got sleeping bags too," Sinclaire said. "Now we just have to build a house to go around them."

"Let's get started!" T-dog said enthusiastically.

Daryl and Merle managed to put their heads together and come up with a list of things that needed to be done and the order they needed to be done in, and people chose the jobs they were best suited for.

Some people painted and then boarded over the windows and all the exits except the back porch door, others began sawing lengths of wood for the partitions. Since Daryl was the one who knew plumbing, after Shane, T, Rick and Merle moved the bathtub onto the porch he got started on that. They had actually found enough lumber to do everything they wanted, including closing in the back porch.

Sinclaire, Lori, Carol, and Andrea stocked the kitchen with all the food they had collectively and dug through the bar pantry for anything else edible. There were a few things, pretzels, peanuts, pork rinds and the like, but it was something different than MRE's at least. Sinclaire wasn't really used to the companionship of other women, but she actually liked these people so far.

Lori wasn't like the image she'd painted in her mind. The woman was a little uptight, sure, but she didn't seem like a whore. And she'd thought of mattresses. If she hadn't mentioned it, Sinclaire never would have thought of it, and then she'd be sleeping on the hardwood floor. That alone was enough to make her like Lori.

Carol was nervous, jumpy, and timid. It made Sinclaire feel protective. She'd have to tell Merle to tone down his assholey-ness around the woman or risk a kick to the nuts.

Andrea seemed most likely to survive on her own. She told Sinclaire that she'd learned to shoot fairly well. Lori cut in and said Andrea was a natural and a good fisherman as well.

Even though everyone worked hard that day, they obviously didn't sleep in separate rooms that night and with the construction going on, no one wanted to risk inflating the air mattresses and having them get popped by a stray nail or a splinter, so Merle and Sinclaire climbed into the truck bed again when night fell.

"Night Yank," Merle said sleepily.

"Wait just a second," she protested. "Tell me about the group."

"What the fuck do ya wanna know about 'em? I put in a long ass day, woman, and I just wanna get some sleep before my fuckin' brother wakes me up at the goddamn crack of dawn," he grumbled.

"Why is Carol so…"

"Skittish?" Merle finished. "Her husband…now that I think about it, that jackass must be dead…beat her every damn chance he got."

"Glad he's dead," she answered. "Saves me the trouble."

"You'd've straightened him out?" he asked, propping up and looking at her, he hadn't ever heard her sound like that before.

"I would have gone hunting with him and shot him in the back of the head," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking with the anger that always overtook her when she encountered situations like this. "And I would have said he got bitten."

"Did it happen to you?" he asked. "Your daddy…"

"No," she interrupted. "No, never. Conrad Lewis would never have hurt a woman or a child. He never hurt anybody."

"He's gone?"

"When I was eight years old he died of an aneurysm. It was very sudden," Sinclaire cleared her throat. "Anyway, I just wondered. You better be nice to Carol or I'll reintroduce my knee to your balls."

"They still remember it pretty damn well," Merle remarked. "Don't think we need to worry about settin' up another meetin'. Night Yank."

"Night Merle."


	22. Chapter 22

True to Merle's projection, Daryl banged on the side of the box truck at the crack of dawn. Sinclaire sat up and stretched, Merle rolled over and swore. She only caught every few words.

"You know that when you say that about him you're insulting yourself too right?" she asked.

"Huh?" Merle squinted.

"Unless you don't have the same mother," she went on. "Then…"

"Get the hell outta my truck," he growled.

She laughed and opened the backdoor. She wasn't exactly a morning person despite the career choice, but teasing Merle sort of made getting up early worthwhile.

"You look cheerful," Lori remarked.

"Merle's funny," she admitted with a smile.

"You've got an odd sense of humor," Andrea commented as she walked by.

Sinclaire only shrugged and accompanied Rick down to the river to get the water bottles and submerge another batch.

"This is going more smoothly than I thought," Rick admitted. "I guess I have you to thank for that."

"You have the fact that you threw his cocaine off the rooftop to thank for that," Sinclaire admitted. "But I'll say you're welcome and take all the credit with no problem."

They ate a relatively civilized breakfast in the bar kitchen and then got to work, dividing into the teams they'd discussed before. The voices of the rest of the group blended with the hammering and occasional rasp of the saw. Shane was mostly quiet, only giving her orders that she had no choice but to follow since he was the one who knew what he was doing.

Over the course of the day she heard Merle's irritated, "What the fuck ya thinkin'?" several times. She heard a yell of pain followed by a sarcastic, "Man up. Or ya want me to kiss it an make it better?" from Daryl when Glenn hammered his thumb and wanted to take a break. Rick and Lori had an argument about what level actually looked like, but it was solved by Shane going to Daryl's truck, getting a level and tossing it Rick's way. Sometime late in the day Andrea and Dale took a break to fix some food and Daryl let Glenn go help them.

Sinclaire was impressed with the amount of work they'd gotten done. By night they should be finished. She found herself smiling.

"What ya so happy about?" Merle asked from across the room.

"We're almost done," she replied. "Isn't it exciting?"

"Yep. This is my happy dance," he answered without moving a muscle.

Daryl snorted as Sinclaire laughed.

"Ya excited too?" Merle drawled.

"Hell, I'm just surprised it's standin'," Daryl shrugged. "Remember the shed?"

"That was yer fuckin' fault little brother," Merle replied indignantly.

"Yeah, I made the mistake of leavin' ya alone while I went to the store. By the time I got back the damage was done," Daryl actually gave his brother a grin.

Even more to her surprise, Merle returned it with a shake of his head.

"If ya'd got the foundation right then that shed woulda stayed where I put it," he replied.

"So what you're saying is that we should sleep with pillows over our heads?" Glenn questioned, stepping back inside, clearly interested in the debate playing out.

"Couldn't hurt," Daryl answered.

"What happened to the shed?" Sinclaire asked, before Merle could explode with curiosity about Daryl and Glenn's relationship.

"We hung all the tools in it," Daryl explained. "Went in for supper…by the next mornin' the whole damn thing was leanin'. I got the stuff out of it; put it back where it'd been before I had my big idea…eventually the shed fell over all the way. But I know this won't." He cracked his knuckles and stretched, then said, "Cause Merle made T and Dale do most of his work."

Sinclaire and Glenn laughed; Merle flipped them both off and went back to what he was doing. Soon all the walls were in place.

As he was hammering the last nail Shane said, "I wanted to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I don't know what anybody else has told you about me, but I'm the one who kept these people alive this whole time. Rick showed up and the whole thing started going to hell…we lost a lot of lives because of him. Now I look at some of them as my responsibility. You want to protect Merle that's your business. But you mess with me again and you won't like the outcome. Are we clear on that?"

"What happened to "you don't threaten me and I won't threaten you?" she asked in a low voice.

"This isn't a threat," Shane answered, keeping her gaze level with hers. "This is just good information for you to have. It's better when everyone's prepared."

"And who is it you're so vigilant over?" she questioned. "Would it happen to be Rick's wife and son?"

He didn't answer; he just walked away. She shivered in spite of herself. He could be one creepy dude when he wanted to be. She wondered if she should mention it to anyone, but she didn't really know who to tell. She was too new to get into the politics of the group and if she told Merle he'd just go and get into a fight with Shane right away. She resolved not to worry about it. Maybe he was just being paranoid and overprotective. Maybe it would be different when he had a decent sense of safety. And maybe she'd be an idiot if she didn't make sure she was always armed and ready around him.

After supper Carol swept the rooms out with the broom they'd found in the pantry and then everyone started bringing things in and pumping up air mattresses. Sinclaire shook her sleeping bag out onto the mattress and then did the same for Merle since he was sitting out on the back porch with Daryl. She leaned against the doorframe and watched the brothers passing a bottle of water back and forth. That was really nice. It was sort of Kodak moment-ish; then Daryl said something in a low voice and Merle punched him in the arm.

"Ya motherfucker, ya really had me worried," Merle barked.

Daryl only shook his head and finished the last of the water in the bottle as he stood up.

"Yer an idiot," he said, walking inside and past Sinclaire. "Night Sinclaire."

"Night bow hunter," she replied. "Thanks for doing all this…"

"Hell I didn't do nothin' ya'll didn't do too," he said with a shrug.

"Not true, you have to hear Glenn whine about his thumb."

"Hey! I'm not whining. I am simply calling attention to my agony." Glenn protested from his mattress. "I mean look at it!"

No one obliged. Merle shoved Daryl out of the doorway and went to lie down. Sinclaire lay down as well and reached out to blow the lamp she'd found in the camping supply store out.

"Said he ain't fuckin' the chink," Merle said with satisfaction.

Sinclaire opened her mouth to answer, but they heard an outraged "What?" from the next room, which happened to be Daryl and Glenn's.

"Goddamn these are thin walls," Merle went on. "Ya heard me!" he answered Glenn, as he banged the wall with the palm of his hand.

"Better watch it," Daryl's voice came through the wall, dry and amused. "Ya put this one up."

"Go to hell," Merle growled, giving Sinclaire a dirty look in response to her wide grin as he blew the lamp out himself.

"He really thought I was gay?" she heard Glenn ask a few moments later.

"Hell, it wasn't you he was worried about," Daryl replied. "Go to sleep kid."

"Good night," Glenn replied huffily.

Sinclaire snorted with laugher and Merle reached across and smacked her in the arm. She returned the favor with a punch to his bicep, which led to what they both considered a quiet exchange of lightish punches and smacks.

Daryl, hearing the rustle of sleeping bags and the other general racket called, "Ya'll keep it down. There's people that ain't so lucky."

Sinclaire rolled over onto her back, scooting out of Merle's reach and said, "Night John-boy."

"Night Elizabeth," Daryl answered without hesitation.

"Ya'll watch too much TV," Merle muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes.


	23. Chapter 23

"Oh my God that's comfortable," Merle muttered as he stretched the next morning. "I'd forgot what it feels like."

"Me too," Sinclaire replied sleepily. "I don't want to get up."

"It's quiet," Merle said after listening for a moment. "Reckon everybody else feels the same way."

"Back to sleep?" she questioned in a whisper.

"Damn good idea Yank."

It was still pretty quiet when Sinclaire managed to pull herself free of the sirens call of the air mattress. Lori and Carol were up, motherhood having reset their body clocks pretty much irreparably, and she thought she heard low conversation from Dale and Andrea's room, but she didn't really stop to chat.

Sinclaire stepped onto the back porch and stood squinting out at the sun. It wasn't cold just yet, but there was a snap in the air and a fall-ish smell around the trees. There was another smell too, familiar but she couldn't place it for a few seconds. She stepped down off the porch sniffing thoughtfully as she walked around the corner of the building.

"Where'd you get that?"

Daryl jumped and the cigarette fell into the grass. Sinclaire picked it up and handed it back with an apologetic smile.

"Fuckin' hell, ya walk quiet," Daryl took a drag from the cigarette and squinted at her through the smoke. "I been hoardin' 'em to answer yer question. Ya ain't gonna tell nobody," he continued firmly. "I ain't the type to share."

"I won't say a word," she promised. "You know, I've never had one." She gave a wry smile and said, "I was always afraid it would kill me."

He gave a half laugh and held it out to her, eyebrows raised.

"I thought you weren't the sharing type."

"One puff's a fuckload different than Merle findin' out and takin' 'em all. Come on," he said when she hesitated. "My brother says yer part Indian…pretend it's a peace pipe."

She put the cigarette between her lips and inhaled gingerly, determined not to cough like an idiot. Daryl watched in amusement as her face went beet red with the effort. Her exhale was quick and shuddery as she handed the cigarette back.

"Good job," he complimented her, smacking her on the back.

She coughed out a "Fuck you!" and he laughed.

"Where the hell ya'd go Yank?"

"Shit! Go, go!" Daryl practically shoved her in the direction Merle's voice had come from and, taking one last drag, flung the cigarette as far in the opposite direction as he could.

"I'm right here," she called, just before he bellowed for her again.

"The hell ya doin' out here by yerself?" he asked. "Ya coulda woke me up…"

"I wasn't by myself," she said. "Daryl's over there somewhere."

"Just about everybody's up now," Rick cut in. "We thought we'd have breakfast and make plans for the day."

Daryl stopped on the bottom step, waiting for Merle to go inside. After Sinclaire and Rick disappeared into the building Merle looked down at him with his arms folded across his chest and said, "Give me half and I won't say nothin'. Ya know T-dog and Andrea smoked too."

"How'd ya…"

"I lost my hand not my damn nose," Merle held his left hand out and Daryl dropped a pack of Marlboro's into it before heading into the bar with a sigh.

"Need to get some huntin' done," Daryl said after everyone had eaten. "Winter's comin' and then we're gonna be fucked."

Everyone agreed that was a good idea so near the middle of the day, Daryl shouldered his bow and headed out.

"No one's going with him?" Sinclaire asked in surprise.

"Daryl hunts alone," Merle answered. "Come on, Yank. We got somethin' to get up to."

"We do?"

He waved her away from the group.

"I'm thinkin' we ain't utilizin' all our resources," he said.

"What resources?"

Merle pointed and Sinclaire looked. They were standing near the top of the ridge and she could see, way down below across the river and lake, something light breaking up the trees.

"What the…are those houses?"

"Lake front property," Merle drawled the words with pure pleasure. "Can ya imagine what they've got?"

Sinclaire was quiet for a moment, then she solemnly held her right fist out and Merle bumped it.

"We should scout the town too," she suggested. "Check out the local zombie hot spots."

"Sounds like a plan," Merle headed for the truck.

Sinclaire followed and, after giving Rick a heads up so they didn't inspire a search party, she slid into the driver's seat and cranked it up. Merle gave her a grin as they hit the pavement.

"Happy?" she questioned.

"Glad to be outta there fer a while," he admitted. "Ain't seen much of ya lately."

"You missed me?" she was surprised and extremely flattered.

Merle shrugged, "I don't mind admittin' I like ya better'n the rest."

"I like you better than the rest too," she replied awkwardly. "What does that say about us exactly?"

"That we got good damn taste."

As she drove and they talked she realized how much she'd missed just hanging out with Merle. They began to speculate on what would be in the mansions.

"Big fuckin' stacks of money," Merle said.

"What would we do with it?" she asked.

"Make a bonfire?" he suggested with a grin. "Spread it across the air mattresses and sleep on it?"

"Use hundreds for toilet paper," she said, getting into the spirit of the thing.

"Give some to Daryl so he can finally get laid."

"He's a late bloomer," Sinclaire reassured Merle. "Give him time."

Merle snorted. "I started when I was 14. Ain't no excuse. Anyway, maybe they got jewelry." He pictured big shiny diamonds.

"You want to feel pretty?" Sinclaire teased.

"Fuck you. Maybe there's…"

"Books!"

"Sure I reckon they got books," he agreed amiably.

"No…books!" she pointed to the library.

"Okay."

"We're going in."

"No we ain't."

"Yes we are," Sinclaire parked the truck and met Merle's belligerent, expression with a sunny smile. "This is one of those times when you have to remember how much you like me."

He snorted, but he got out when she did and they walked around the building, peering in windows and checking for signs of Walkers.

"Looks all right," he admitted. "But, come on Yank…we can do this another day."

Sinclaire didn't answer; she was too busy jimmying the lock. He sighed and followed her inside. She relocked the door so they wouldn't be surprised and Merle sighed in irritation at the waste of time better spent looting rich people's homes.

She looked at the new books first, reading the backs of them or the jackets where the backs weren't helpful, and stacking the ones she wanted on the reference desk where Merle had propped himself. When she stepped over to the fiction section several isles away Merle lost him patience.

"Come on! Ya got enough right here!"

"Don't yell in the library," Sinclaire replied in a stage whisper.

"Damn it Yank!" he picked up one of the books she'd chosen and said, "Why don't ya tell me just how a "tense psychological thriller about a man on the run from the C.I.A" is gonna help us loot anything."

"Well," she came back with another armload of books. "A lot of fiction writers research their subject pretty thoroughly before they write…"

"And don't lots of 'em talk out their ass too?"

"I'm sure they do," she replied, going behind the desk and getting several bags. "Never been back here. Feels kind of nice. Ask me about the Dewey Decimal System."

"What the fuck?"

She laughed and bagged her books as she said, "But you make a good point. I wonder if there are any books about what we're going through."

"Books on zombies?" Merle shook his head. "I ain't never heard of nothin' like this in no damn book."

"Yeah, but you're the kind of man who only opens the printed word if there're tits to be seen."

He shrugged and gave her a half smile.

"I mean viral outbreaks and stuff like that. Oh! And sustainability!"

"Ya get awful damn excited about books," he observed when she bolted for the card catalog.

"My dad taught English. Thank God you guys are so backwoods, most places have all this computerized and then I would have had to take days to go through…aha!"

By the time Merle's impatience grew uncontainable she'd gathered three more bags of books, including a wide range of juvenile fiction and non-fiction for Carl and Sophia.

"All right!" she said finally. "I guess we can go."

"It's almost dark," Merle said in irritation. "If I could drive the damn truck I'da left your bookworm ass here."

"Whatever, you like me the best," she laid the bags carefully in the back of the truck and smiled at him over her shoulder.

"Knew I shouldn'ta told ya," he grumbled.

"Don't be a sore loser. There're some houses in town. We can loot those before we go back home."

"Fuckin' hell. Ain't gonna be near as good," Merle crossed his arms.

"Come on! I'm under orders to bring back canned peaches if at all possible."

"Canned peaches?"

"Lori wants them," she explained.

"Fuck her."

"How about this…if we only find one can I'll let you eat it in front of her."

Merle laughed and Sinclaire knew she was off the hook. She _had_ spent a lot of the day in the library. They parked on the side street and walked up to a brown ranch style house. The door was open when she tried it so she and Merle both drew their guns and proceeded with caution.

The house had clearly been broken into, but it had apparently happened in the early riots, because it was only electronics and such that were missing. Picture frames lay broken on the floor and Sinclaire pulled her gaze away from the pictures that had spilled out. She couldn't help but notice who they were though, a woman and a girl, both smiling into the camera with their arms around each other.

The kitchen was decently stocked. There was canned fruit, three cans of peaches to be exact, and canned vegetables and soup and other nonperishables. Merle got some bags from under the sink and they loaded them up.

"Who the hell really eats Vienna sausages?" Sinclaire whispered in disgust.

"I do," Merle answered defensively, grabbing the can from her.

"You want to finish up here while I check the bathroom?"

"What ya lookin' for in the bathroom?"

"Soap and shampoo, maybe razors and shave gel."

"Knock yourself out. Holler if ya need me."

Sinclaire stuck two bags in her back pocket and headed down the hall. She found several unopened bars of soap under the sink in the bathroom and, even though she felt weird about it, she took the shampoo and conditioner that was in the shower. With everyone bathing they'd go through it pretty fast. There was shaving cream and some razors that hadn't been used. She bagged it quickly, trying not to think about who it used to belong to. Maybe looting wasn't going to be one of her favorite things.

She stood up and glanced in the mirror and her heart jumped into her throat.

Merle figured she must need him, because that was quite a holler.

He dropped the bag he was filling on the kitchen table and ran up the hall, colliding with her as she came running down.

"Go!" she shrieked. "More than one! Window open…move, move, move!"

Merle glanced over her shoulder and saw what she meant. They were at the first house in the little residential area and, from the window at the end of the hall, he could see an entire herd coming their way. About ten were headed toward them from the bedrooms on either side of the hall and more were pushing in through the window.

He ran after her, stopping briefly to snag the bags of food on the table…hell, they'd worked for it, and then heading for the truck as fast as possible. Sinclaire, who was already in the truck, kept him covered as he ran her way. He flung the food into the back of the truck and then slammed the door. Sinclaire stomped the gas.

"Good God," Merle breathed. "Ya really can yell when ya wanna."

She laughed shakily.

"I can't believe you brought the food!"

"Ya got the shower stuff," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but I've got two hands!"

"I knew ya wouldn't let 'em get me," he shrugged.

"Aw. I'd cry if I weren't so high on terror-endorphins."

She really was touched, but she knew he wouldn't appreciate knowing it anymore than she would relish saying it.

They drove around for a bit in several different directions in hopes of throwing the zombies off the scent before they headed back to the bar, so they got there at the same time Daryl showed up with a deer and six rabbits.

"Nice work little brother," Merle said. "We got the side dishes right here."

"Yeah?" Daryl looked interested.

"Green beans and corn, Vienna sausages…" Merle listed as Daryl looked like he might drool.

"And books," Sinclaire said.

Crickets. Sinclaire threw her hands up and gathered some bags. The others, particularly Dale, Carol and Sophia, were more receptive to the written word and Dale even mentioned going back sometime if Sinclaire would show him where the library was. She agreed, happy to be appreciated at last, and they all sat down to a dinner of rabbit, green beans, and peaches for dessert.

That night, Sinclaire bundled herself into her sleeping bag and picked up the book Merle had been making fun of in the library. She was only a few pages into the story when Merle said, "So what's it about?"

"It's a tense psychological thriller about a man on the run from the C.I.A," she replied dryly.

"Smartass Yank."

"Want me to read it to you?"

"Hell, I ain't got nothin' else to do," he said, to her surprise.

She flipped back to the beginning and started out, "Jack Nelson was a wanted man…"

A few minutes later, Daryl banged on the wall and said, "Louder."

"Get your ass in here," she replied.

A few seconds later Daryl came in and sat at the foot of Merle's mattress. Sinclaire shook her head behind the book and grinned to herself as she read the first chapter and then, using a leaf as a bookmark, closed the book.

"Hey!" Merle barked. "Ya ain't just gonna stop there are ya?"

"We'll read more tomorrow night," she said, using her father's patient tone. "So, you admit it wasn't a waste of time?"

"I'm just sayin' that now that ya got the damn book I'm gonna get somethin' out of it," Merle said, smacking Daryl in the arm. "Get your lazy ass off my bed. Ya got stuck with the chinaman and there ain't nothin' ya can do about it now."

"I'm Korean," Glenn's long suffering voice came through the wall. "And if you keep it up, I'll tell you how that book ends."

"Well played," Sinclaire called and she heard Glenn laugh.

Daryl left the room and she blew out the lamp. Aside from the zombie attack it had been a pretty good day. And there were still lake front homes to loot at some point. She and Merle said good night and she went to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

"What the hell are ya doin' up so goddamn early?"

"Push-ups," Sinclaire answered. "Now is not the time to get soft and that's exactly what I'm doing. It's pathetic."

"Yer idea of pathetic's an awful lot different from mine," he grumbled. "Go do that shit somewhere else. All that heavy breathin's makin' me horney."

Since that wasn't her goal in the slightest, she headed outside. Daryl was sitting on the back porch. He wasn't smoking, he was just sitting. Now there was a genuine morning person.

"Mornin'," he said. "Coffee?"

"Coffee?" she repeated.

"Yeah, there was some in the kitchen stuff ya'll brought back. It's instant but it's better'n nothin'."

"I guess so. But I've got to do this thing…Merle kicked me out of the room 'cause I started doing push-ups."

Daryl gave her a grin and a nod as he confirmed, "Merle hates push-ups."

"I'm guessing you don't."

He shrugged as he answered, "Take 'em or leave 'em."

"Well…enjoy your coffee."

"Enjoy yer push-ups."

"You know it."

It went okay for the first time doing "real" exercise in over a month. She wished she had a sparring partner. She doubted Merle would let her beat up on him in front of everyone, and she hadn't forgotten the strange feeling of being underneath Daryl. She wasn't anxious to repeat something she didn't understand. Dale was too old; Carol and Lori didn't look the type…that only left Rick, Glenn, and Shane. Oh well, maybe it wasn't a great idea.

Merle was awake when she was done.

"Yer all sweaty," was his only comment.

"It happens when you do something other than drink and be sarcastic," she shot back.

"Yeah well…" Merle broke off when they heard the unmistakable sound of tires on gravel.

"Get the kids inside," Rick ordered. "Shane and Sinclaire you're with me. Daryl, Merle, cover us from the porch."

Everyone moved on his command. Sinclaire took a moment to respect his leadership skills. The SUV came to a stop. Rick's hand hovered over his holster. Shane and Sinclaire were less subtle. She drew both of her guns; Shane rested the shotgun on his shoulder.

A man exited the car. He was dressed in camo pants and a black tee shirt that molded to every muscle in his chest and stomach. He held his hands up.

"My name is Nathanial Spearman. I'm not here to hurt anyone. I'm looking for Rick Grimes, Sinclaire, Daryl, and Glenn."

"I'm Rick Grimes."

"And I'm Sinclaire Lewis. What do you…"

"I want to make sure you aren't going to shoot," he said. "We don't want to hurt anyone. Just wanted to get to know our neighbors, so to speak. I've got Carrie and Tiff with me…"

Sinclaire glanced to his left and saw Carrie wave from the passenger side window. She holstered the guns.

"So you just came to pay a social call?" she asked.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't a threat," he answered honestly. "You show up, you take supplies…you might have thought that the girls were on their own."

"Pretty brave of you to just show up on our turf though," Shane said.

"According to the girls there were only a few of you," he answered. "I could have handled that."

"The amount of supplies we took should have told you how many of us there were," Sinclaire said.

"I didn't exactly take inventory when we moved in," Nate said with a grin. "What branch?"

"Army. You?"

"Navy." She started to snort, but he wasn't done. "SEAL."

Oh.

"You can let them out of the car now," Rick said. "We won't hurt you."

Nate gave them a gesture and the women exited the vehicle.

"Hi!" Carrie said. "It's good to see people again! People who aren't them I mean."

She gave Nate and Tiffany a teasing smile. Rick said he'd go and tell the others that it was safe to come out. Shane walked away too, leaving Sinclaire alone with Nate.

"You aren't what I expected when I heard the name Sinclaire," he said.

"I get that a lot," she answered.

"So is it's just you and me?"

"What?"

"The only military?"

"Fuck no."

She was oddly relieved when Merle stepped up beside her.

"I was too. Just got sick of bein' pushed around by a bunch of jackasses."

"Uh-huh," Nate looked him up and down. "And what about you?"

"Me?"

She didn't know that Daryl had walked up too.

"No. I, uh…I'm a…I worked construction."

She felt sort of bad for him.

"I've recently learned the importance of a varied skill set in an apocalypse," she said. "He's the best hunter we've got."

"What do you hunt?" Carrie asked him, practically batting her eyelashes as she asked the question.

"Huh?"

Merle elbowed his brother so hard that he coughed. As Daryl gasped in a breath, Merle said, "Anything ya can imagine sweetheart. He keeps us all fed, don't he Yank?"

"Yep. Yes. He's…um, brilliant. With the hunting," Sinclaire said with a grin; it was really cute how desperate Merle was to get Daryl laid.

"I bet you are!" Carrie flipped her hair over her shoulder and touched Daryl's arm. "I bet you're just great at everything!"

Daryl looked warily at Merle to make sure he wasn't going to get hit again and said, "I don't know…"

It didn't take long for the group to head to the porch to talk, it was the South after all. Carrie never left Daryl's side, which Sinclaire thought was hilarious. Maybe there was someone for everyone. It certainly wasn't anything Daryl was doing. He was his normal "what is this species called woman?" self.

Nate sat on the porch steps beside Sinclaire.

"You've got a good little set-up here," he said.

"We do," she agreed. "We've all worked hard on it."

She wondered where Merle was. He'd rescued her every time Nate got too close and now he'd given up? A glance around informed her that he and Tiffany had walked down to the river. What the hell?

"It's hard to keep from checking up on them isn't it?" Nate remarked.

"Yes it is."

"Have you lost people?" he went on.

"Hasn't everyone?"

"I guess so. There were more people in our group when we got started."

"It was always just me and Merle," she said, relieved that he'd phrased it that way. "We were trying to find his brother."

"And?"

"And we did. Casanova over there," she pointed unsubtly at him.

"Ya talkin' about me?" he walked over quickly, glad for a reason to leave Carrie's side. Glenn was giving him dirty looks and he didn't want her anyway.

"Nate was asking if Merle found his brother."

"Yeah. That's me."

"It's amazing that you managed it," Nate said.

"It really was," Sinclaire agreed, scooting over as Merle and Tiffany came up, holding water bottles.

"I'm a damned amazing guy," Merle said, tousling Sinclaire's hair.

"Fuck you Merle Dixon, I'm the one who fell on him!"

Merle just laughed.

Sinclaire was surprised at how well everyone got along. She really liked all of them. Carrie was a little enthusiastic for her liking, but she was a good hearted person. Tiffany had an awesome dry sense of humor and Nate was…well, familiar. She was used to military guys and she liked him a lot.

Near dusk Nate stood and said, "Been fun, but we'd better get back before dark."

"Drop by anytime," Rick said.

"Oh that'd be fun!" Carrie gave Daryl a smile.

Merle kicked him and he gave a reflexive "Yeah."

Once the SUV drove away, and the group dissipated, Merle looked at Daryl.

"Swear to God boy! I don't know what you think sex is like, but I swear ya'd like it if ya did it!"

"So I'm supposed to wanna fuck girls I don't even know?"

"Yeah!"

"Now come on, Merle," Sinclaire said. "Bow hunter has standards, that's all."

"Yer just jealous cause I spent all that time with Tiffany."

"Jealous?" she asked in genuine surprise.

Merle grinned, considering his work there done. Daryl and Sinclaire both looked like they wanted to hit him. He headed inside for supper before either of them could act on it.

"Jackass," Daryl muttered. "She'd be too young for me even if I wanted her."

"How old is she?" Sinclaire asked distractedly. _Was_ she jealous of Merle? It had been odd to see him down by the river with Tiffany…and now if she asked him he'd mess with her about it. Damn that bastard!

"Ya even listenin?" Daryl asked.

"Oh. Sure. You said she's um…"

"20," he said dryly. "And I'm 35."

"That's not too bad actually. What's the male version of a cougar?"

"Blow me."

"All that would do is make your brother happy."

Daryl laughed.

"Well, ya just let me know if Merle ever needs cheerin' up."

Her mouth dropped open and he cleared his throat, glancing down at his boots.

"You!" Glenn came out onto the porch and pointed at Daryl. "You want to tell me just how you managed to get the attention of the one girl my age left in the world?"

"Hell I didn't do it on purpose! She fuckin' latched on!"

"It's got to be the sleeveless shirt factor," Sinclaire said, relieved to have someone else to talk to. "You have sleeves, he doesn't…"

Glenn glanced at his baseball shirt doubtfully.

"What the hell good would it do him to take the sleeves off?" Merle asked from just inside the bar. "He's got stringbean arms."

"I do not!"

Merle grinned. Sinclaire saw an opportunity.

"Well, I wouldn't say _stringbean_ arms…but if you ever want to tone up…I could use a sparring partner."

"Ya didn't ask me."

She had to hide a smile at Merle's renewal of his possessive tone.

"You don't want me beating you up in front of everybody."

He snorted.

"We ain't had a real fight since a couple days after I lost my hand. I was dehydrated and comin' down. Don't count."

"You had a real fight?" Glenn cut in, looking shocked.

"Yep," Sinclaire answered. "It was only a minor disagreement."

"And ya won?" Daryl asked.

"Damn straight," she replied, borrowing one of Merle's phrases.

"And what about my little brother?" Merle drawled. "Ya ain't willin' to spar with him?"

Damn it. She shrugged casually and said, "Whatever."

"So you could teach me how to fight?" Glenn asked. "Really fight? Did you learn in the Army?"

"Sort of," she said, happy that the subject had changed. "I've been taking kickboxing lessons since I was eleven though."

"Awesome!"

Glenn talked her ear off for the rest of the night, so Merle didn't have another chance to tease Sinclaire or Daryl about sex, or the lack thereof.

Sinclaire lay down that night determined to go right to sleep. That determination lasted about five seconds.

"You like Tiffany don't you?"

"Parts of her," Merle agreed.

"Oh for God's sake! She seems really nice and funny and…"

"No matter how good they look someone, somewhere's sick of their shit," Merle cut in.

"I don't know…maybe the guy who's sick of her shit is dead," she replied. "You could be the new guy sick of her shit."

"Eh," Merle shrugged. "Ya worried about it?"

"You accused me of being jealous!"

"Ya sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"Fine."

"Fine."

She flopped over onto her back and threw her arm over her eyes. Merle blew out the lamp.

"But if ya are…better let me know. I'm damn near irresistible to most women."

"Fuck you."

"See? Irresistible."

"Shut up and go to sleep," Daryl grumbled from the other side of the partition.

Sinclaire decided that was excellent advice.


	25. Chapter 25

The morning that dawned approximately two weeks later was beautiful; it was cool crisp and sunny and the bright morning sun sparkled over the river behind the bar. Too bad the mood inside was so dark. Rick and Shane had fought over something trivial which would have been sort of normal, but Lori had taken Shane's side which had pissed Rick off even more. Carl had teased Sophia about zombies until she cried, Andrea and Dale had apparently had words the night before because they weren't currently speaking and Merle, who was angry at Sinclaire, had yelled at Daryl until he'd thrown up his hands and gone hunting.

"Look Merle, sometimes books don't end the way you want them to," Sinclaire said from her place on the front porch. "I'm sorry Andrews died but…"

"Fuck that piece of shit," Merle grumbled. "This is why I don't read!"

"You watched TV. How is that different?"

"Just is."

"How about I borrow The Boxcar Children from Sophia and read that? I promise it has a happy ending."

"God don't talk to me about happy endings."

"Ew. Will you forgive me for sharing the written word?"

"Hell, I guess so."

Merle sighed grudgingly and sat down beside her.

"Got any more books?" he asked after they'd been silent for a while.

"Yep. We can start another one tonight if you apologize to Daryl."

"For what?" Merle asked indignantly.

"You called him a dipshit."

"He is a dipshit."

"That may be your opinion, but I'm not going to read unless you're nice to your little brother."

"Fuck you."

"Keep it up and I'll read to Daryl without you."

"That what ya callin' it?"

"What?"

"Nothin'," Merle sighed at the clueless look on her face. "I'm officially givin' up on gettin' him some. Or you some either."

"You were trying to pimp me to your brother?"

"No," Merle said with dignity. "Just givin' him helpful suggestions…"

He went silent when they heard the crunch of tires on gravel. Sinclaire bolted to her feet as Merle grabbed his gun. She pressed her face to one of the cracks the Dixon brothers had left for the purpose and then sighed with relief.

"It's just Nate."

"Just Nate," Merle's bad mood came back in a rush when he saw her smile. "Whatdaya think he wants?"

"Only one way to find out," she replied, walking through the bar. "Just a heads up," she called to the room at large. "Nate's back."

"Is Carrie with him?" Glenn asked eagerly.

"I don't know," Sinclaire answered. "I just recognized the car. If she is you'd better get sleeveless fast."

"Wait and I'll come out with you," Rick said.

"Fuck that," Merle grumbled. "I'll go."

Obviously not in the mood for another argument Rick only shrugged. Sinclaire gave him a smile of thanks and walked out into the backyard. She waved at the SUV and Nate stepped out. He looked friendly so Sinclaire returned his smile; Merle's only concession was to take his finger off the trigger of his gun.

"I was hoping I'd catch you," Nate said to Sinclaire. "I wondered if you wanted to ride to the store with me."

"Hell no. She ain't stupid," Merle answered before Sinclaire even had a chance to open her mouth.

"I appreciate the offer," Sinclaire said after elbowing Merle. "But as my eloquent friend has just pointed out, I don't take rides from strangers."

"I thought you might turn me down," Nate admitted. "So in order to show you that my intentions are good, I'm offering to take a shopping list and bring back what I can find for you guys."

"That's really nice of you," Sinclaire said, gesturing for him to come inside the bar. "And I guess pretty much any food would do really."

However, when she explained his offer to Lori and Carol they were more than happy to start on a list. Apparently there were some things in the kitchen that they were only lacking a few ingredients to be able to make. It was nice to have someone around who knew about that kind of stuff. It wasn't exactly her strong suit for sure. She pointed to the row of liquor bottles on the bar top and raised her eyebrow at Nate. He indicated a bottle of scotch and she poured him a skimpy shot.

"You're driving," she said when he raised his eyebrow at the amount in the glass. "And…this is just really good scotch."

It annoyed Merle to see Sinclaire joking with Nate like that. He poured himself a more generous shot, which Sinclaire took and drank half of before giving it back, and drank it down.

"So you're by yourself?" Sinclaire asked Nate after getting several significant looks from Glenn.

"Yeah. I'd rather have someone to watch my back, but the girls aren't combat trained and they'd end up being a distraction. I've been in the store before; it's not too bad. There's only one entrance point now."

"Why're ya so damn eager to make friends?" Merle asked. "Ya got two girls to yourself out there…"

"Safety in numbers," Nate said simply, ignoring Merle's not-so-veiled accusation. "The girls liked you; so did I. You're better set up here, with the river and everything. Two of you are law enforcement, one's military, you've got a hunter, mothers, kids…what I'm getting at is that your group could be the start of a new community when this is over and we'd like to be a part of it."

Everyone in the room sort of stared at him. None of them had ever thought of it that way before.

"Huh. King and Queen right here," Merle said, putting his arm over Sinclaire's shoulders briefly.

"Why us?" she asked, bemused.

"It's our bar," he answered simply.

Sinclaire laughed and said, "Good enough for me."

Nate took the shopping list and headed out, promising to be back as soon as he could. Sinclaire spent the rest of the day chatting with Merle and watching for Daryl. The sun was going to go down soon and he still wasn't back. Neither was Nate. Surely they couldn't both die in a day though. Not a Navy SEAL and a…whatever Daryl could be classified as.

She was sitting on the back porch with her chin in her hands when she saw a lone figure come over the ridge. She waved. Daryl waved back, picking up the pace a bit.

He'd had a decent day after he'd stopped being pissed at Merle. Several of his traps had been used when he checked them and he'd ended up with three rabbits and a possum. And four squirrels. Not a bad day at all considering it was almost winter time when most stuff would be hunkered down till spring.

The SUV pulled in before he got the porch and since Sinclaire didn't look worried, he assumed that somehow she'd known about it. As a matter of fact she'd hopped off the porch and was standing by the car chatting with Nate.

"Hey!" Nate greeted him. "It's Dale right?"

"Daryl," Daryl corrected, insulted. "Dale's the old guy with the hat."

"That's right. Sorry," Nate said with a friendly smile.

"Whatever," Daryl shrugged. "What's all this?"

"Nate went shopping," Sinclaire said.

"Yeah? Well…I went huntin'."

"I see. How'd you do?"

"Good."

Daryl turned to go into the bar just as Nate hefted several grocery bags.

"Wait! Bow hunter…" Sinclaire tried to keep the laughter out of her voice and nearly succeeded. "Are there squirrels in your back pockets?"

"Yeah," he answered, refusing to turn around. "So?"

"No reason."

Daryl walked inside, plunked the bag he'd carried the rabbits and possum in on the counter and emptied his pockets of squirrels.

"Nate's here," he said bitterly.

"Told ya, ya shoulda got on that while ya had the chance," Merle said unsympathetically. "Now look whatcha done. He brings home groceries; you show up with a pocket full of dead animal. She's gonna be all cuddled up with that guy by the end of the night…"

"She is not!" Daryl said firmly.

"Ya finally gonna do somethin' about it?"

"She…I…she ain't the cuddlin' type's all I'm sayin'."

"Who isn't the cuddling type?" Sinclaire asked from behind Daryl.

"Nobody," he said idiotically.

"You were talking about me behind my back again weren't you?" Sinclaire asked Merle.

"Maybe just a little sweetheart," he said with a grin. "Nothin' else to do around here is there?"

"Not until you apologize," she said sweetly.

"What'd ya do to her?" Daryl asked in amusement.

"Nothin' she says I did it to you."

"Huh?" Daryl was confused.

"He called you a dipshit. You don't remember that?"

"Hell, he knows I've called him worse than that," Merle said. "Ya don't want no fuckin' apology do ya?"

Daryl crossed his arms and looked thoughtful.

"What'd ya say ya'd do if he didn't?" he asked Sinclaire.

"No more books."

Daryl rubbed his middle finger along his lower lip and said, "Yeah. I'm feelin' real hurt Merle."

"You're about to be hurtin' for real," Merle growled.

Sinclaire patted Daryl's shoulder in sympathy and shook her head sadly.

"I guess the next book will just be you and me Daryl."

"Reckon so."

"Fine. I'm sorry I called ya a dipshit."

Sinclaire gave Merle a big smile and said, "Was that so hard?"

"Blow me."

She left the room to help put away the groceries and Merle looked at his younger brother.

"Shoulda called somethin' a lot worse."


	26. Chapter 26

"Ha!" Glenn said triumphantly.

"Ha," Sinclaire repeated dryly as she flipped him over and put her knees on his arms, pinning him much more securely than he'd pinned her.

"Damn boy!" Merle called. "How many times is that?"

"At least I'm brave enough to take her on," Glenn shot back. "You guys are just sitting there—"

"What ya draggin' me into it for?" Daryl asked. "I ain't said nothin'!"

"Ya ain't done nothin' neither," Merle said, punching him in the shoulder.

"I can kick your ass and that's enough for me," Daryl replied with a grin.

"Shit! One lucky punch! And I was goin' easy on ya 'cause I'd been thinkin' ya was dead."

"You're all heart Merle," Sinclaire teased.

"Ya know it sweetheart," he replied with a wink. "Ain't ya about done throwin' the chinaman around anyway? Gettin' hungry."

"So go eat. I'm not your personal chef," she answered as she stood up and tugged Glenn to his feet.

"Aw come on! Woman up."

Daryl laughed at Sinclaire's bemused expression.

"Take your brother," she said. "He's not doing anything."

"Hey! Maybe I'm a visual learner!" he protested.

"So come down here and take her on," Glenn challenged.

"Or take him on," Sinclaire suggested. "At least then you'd have a sure victory."

"That's it!" Glenn said dramatically. "I'll be in my trailer."

As he walked huffily up the steps Merle said, "Fix me somethin' to eat while you're in there."

Sinclaire shook her head and sat down on one of the lower steps.

"He really is fun to mess with," she said, giving Merle a smile.

"Yeah," he agreed. "What ya think he's gonna fix for lunch?"

"Soup," Daryl answered. "But he ain't gonna give ya none."

"Shit," Merle drawled as he stood up. "We'll see about that."

Once Merle was gone to look through the bounty of groceries Nate had brought back the day before, Sinclaire boosted herself up to the step he'd been sitting on. It was warmer out of Daryl's shadow in addition to the fact that Daryl was practically cozy warm all the time. She didn't know how he did it. Her mother had always sworn that Sinclaire was cold blooded in the most literal sense of the word. When the temperature dropped, Sinclaire added layers. _Lots_ of layers. With the clothing shortage lately though there were only so many layers she could add short of wearing her sleeping bag. She wished she had a snuggie. Why the hell hadn't she bought a snuggie?

"Cold?" Daryl asked when she shivered for about the third time.

"Yeah."

"I'd've thought that ya'd work up a sweat tossin' the kid around," Daryl said as he pulled off his over shirt and handed it to her.

"You don't have to do that," she protested. He draped it over her shoulders anyway. "Oh sweet Lord you're warm. How do you stay so warm?"

He shrugged and said, "Merle's the same way."

"He wouldn't give me his shirt though."

"Can't argue that," Daryl agreed. "Guess I'm just a better person."

She laughed.

"I think you just take every opportunity to be sleeveless. Hoping Carrie will turn up again?"

"Oh God, not you too. She shows up I'm locking her in with Glenn and not lettin' her out."

"Good old fashioned Dixon matchmakin'," Merle said, nudging Daryl with the toe of his boot so he could sit down. "Remember Jimmy?"

Daryl chuckled and said, "Hard to forget."

"What happened with Jimmy?" Sinclaire asked with interest.

"Here," Merle said handing her a bowl of soup. "Don't say I never gave ya nothin'. Jimmy…"

"Just a damn second," Daryl interrupted. "Where's mine?"

"In the kitchen I reckon," Merle said.

"I'm your only brother! And I'm sittin' out here in a fuckin' wife beater!"

"I can give you your shirt back," Sinclaire began, feeling guilty.

"Hell," Merle drawled. "It ain't my fault that ya don't know that ya warm up a woman from the inside out."

"Oh good God," she muttered taking another sip of the soup.

Daryl stood up with a sigh and went to get something to eat.

"Anyway," Merle said as if they'd never been interrupted. "My cousin Mellissa had fell in love with a guy named Jimmy and he was sorta draggin' his feet about the whole thing."

"I can't imagine anyone not wanting to marry into the Dixon clan," Sinclaire teased.

"Mellissa felt the same way," Merle said. "So she did what every woman does when she wants to keep a man…she got knocked up."

"That's the most sexist thing I've ever heard you say," she informed him. "But now I'm curious so…elucidate."

"Jimmy wasn't real sure he wanted to do the right thing. Mellissa's daddy, my daddy's older brother, wasn't about to stand for his daughter's uh…"

"Virtue being spoiled?" she suggested.

"Yeah that's it," he answered with a grin. "So what Uncle Dan did was lock 'em in a room in the trailer and tell Jimmy that he wasn't comin' out till he knew right from wrong."

"Is that what he actually said? Those were his exact words?"

"Yep."

"Your family's terrifying!"

"Yep," Merle said complacently as he finished up his soup. "Warm yet Yank?"

"Getting there," she admitted.

"All this cookin' made me tired," Merle said with a stretch. "I think I'm gonna go to sleep."

"You're getting old."

"Fuck you."

Daryl walked out with his cup of soup as Merle walked inside.

"He don't wanna associate with me no more," Daryl said as he sat back down. "Brought ya somethin'."

She smiled when he held out a blanket.

"Is this your way of insinuating that you want your shirt?"

"Nah. It's good thing ya ain't back home, ya'd freeze to death."

"That's probably true," she agreed. "I hadn't thought of that. It's probably snowing up there by now. I wonder how the zombies would handle snow?"

"That's a good question," Daryl said, thinking about it. "I ain't so sure their blood circulates. If it froze they wouldn't be able to move…maybe we'll have a colder winter and we can see."

"It's pretty much the only reason to wish for a cold winter," Sinclaire said.

"I'd make sure ya stayed warm," he said without really thinking about it.

She didn't know what to say to that, an obviously off the cuff remark that shouldn't have made her think anything at all. It was the kind of remark Rick or Glenn or even Merle might have made. It was a Southern guy type of statement. It was…she was over analyzing it and now Daryl was starting to realize what he'd said. It was about to get awkward…

"Walkers!" Carl gasped out, running up the steps, dragging Sophia behind him.

"Where at?" Daryl asked, jumping to his feet.

"How many?" Sinclaire demanded at the same time.

"Over there," Carl pointed to the left.

"A lot!" Sophia answered as she gasped for breath.

"Get in the house," Daryl ordered her. "Get yer dad," he said to Carl.

Sinclaire dropped the blanket and pulled her vest on as she yelled for Merle.

"What?" he yelled back.

"Zombies!"

"Fuck!"

Shane was the first to get out to the porch, his shotgun braced on his shoulder, his eyes scanning the horizon.

"About fifty," he said as Glenn and Rick showed up. "We oughta just shoot from right here…"

"We can't," Sinclaire interrupted. "Our range won't be good enough and there's always the chance that they could swarm the porch. This won't hold forever."

"Fine," he answered in a clipped tone that told her he knew she was right. "Then let's get out there."

Sinclaire took a deep breath as Rick and Shane headed down the steps. Daryl followed, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, a colt 45 in the waistband of his jeans. She hadn't faced a hoard in a while. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned.

"Let's go get 'em Yank," Merle said with a slight grin. "But don't bother to count yer kills 'cause I'm gonna have ya beat pretty bad."

"Fuck you Merle Dixon! I could beat you with my eyes closed."

"Then let's get out there," he said. "We'll see who's the better zombie killer."

"Damn straight," she said, borrowing one of his expressions and giving him a smile over her shoulder as she went down the steps.

She aimed and fired the first shot. A zombie in a tattered print dress fell. The rest of the herd picked up the pace at the sound. She saw Daryl aim and fire a bolt, dropping another. As he reloaded she called, "Use the gun!"

"Not 'till I have to," he called back. "What's it to ya anyway?"

"I don't want to see you get eaten," she answered. "It's slow!"

"Slow?" he questioned incredulously. He barely took the time to aim as he dropped his next Walker. "How ya like that?"

She shook her head, taking down four more in quick succession.

"I like that better."

He drew back the bow one more time, shooting the Walker closest and then switched to the gun.

"Fine. That better?" he asked when they began falling like dominos.

"Much."

She glanced around for Merle and found him still going strong.

"8!" he yelled.

Damn. She'd forgotten to count.

"Ya got five," Daryl said. "Better catch up."

"Shit."

To her surprise and immense relief no one died. Merle beat her 20 to 14; it was pretty humiliating.

"So all this proves is that I coulda beat ya with one hand behind my back," Merle drawled. "Ain't nothin' to get upset over."

"I am not upset," Sinclaire snapped.

"Ya sound upset."

"Fuck you bow hunter."

Daryl just laughed and pulled one of his bolts out of a zombies head with a squelching sound.


	27. Chapter 27

"What the hell ya readin'?" Merle demanded.

"Nothing," Sinclaire said quickly.

Merle snatched the book before she could hide it and said, "Lady Amanda's Rakish Rogue. The fuck?"

"I…it…I got tired of the CIA ok?" she could feel her face heating up. "There's nothing wrong with a little uh…"

Merle was flipping through the book with a grin on his face. His eyebrows went up and he couldn't resist reading aloud when he came to a certain passage.

"'Oh Ryder, take me now! Ryder clutched Lady Amanda to his chest and she gasped as the flesh of her bosom met the hard planes of muscle that rippled under the moonlight. His member swelled with lusty anticipation…'"

At this point Merle nearly choked on his own laughter and he was forced to stop. Sinclaire gave up any hope of dignity and buried her face in her hands.

"Bosom!" Merle guffawed. "And member…oh God girl. I ain't laughed that hard in a while."

"I'm glad I could be of assistance," she said frostily. "Give me my book."

"Hell no. I'm puttin' this under Daryl's pillow tonight so he can see how ya _ain't_ supposed to do it."

"Why don't you write him up a handy flip book?" she questioned as she snatched the paperback away. "It would occupy your dirty little mind."

"_I_ got the dirty mind?" he questioned with a grin. "I ain't the one readin' about gettin' some dick under the moonlight."

"I should think not," she said primly. "You made your feelings about that well known."

He sat down beside her when she sat again.

"Anyway," he continued, "What's the point of thinkin' about fuckin' when I ain't got nobody to fuck? Lori's got about all she can handle, Andrea's bangin' the old man, Carol's…"

"You leave Carol alone."

"See? And then there's you."

"Well, you don't have to say it like that," Sinclaire teased. "Like I'm the last woman you'd ever pick."

"Ain't that. I told ya before, I'd take ya. It's just that ya hate to be touched. Can't fuck without touchin'…it ain't _quite _that big."

She shook her head with a smile.

"Why're ya like that anyway Yank?"

He'd been wanting to ask for a while but he'd waited because he realized that he was more likely to get an answer out of her if he knew he better.

"Maybe I'm a germophobe," she said casually.

"'Cept I know ya ain't."

"Maybe I'm—"

"Maybe yer stallin'. Look I reckon I can go my whole life without knowin' if that's what ya want."

"Why do you want to know anyway?" she asked.

"Curious mostly. Ya act like ya've been hurt before. Like a kicked dog, but yer the kind that gets crazy and bites everybody rather'n the kind that just rolls over an takes more. I wanna know what made ya like that," Merle said truthfully.

Sinclaire half laughed and said, "It's nothing really. Trust got placed where it wasn't deserved and now certain things bring back certain memories. But good analogy."

"Yeah well anything would impress ya after readin' that shit."

"My dad would have a fit," she admitted.

"Why? He hate sex too?"

"Obviously not; I exist. He was a literature professor. That's why he named me Sinclaire."

"Ya lost me."

"Sinclair Lewis was the first American writer to get the Nobel Peace Prize for literature. My dad couldn't resist with our last name, so my mom added the "e" to the end of my name so I could go by Claire if I wanted. I didn't. It's really fun having an uncommon name; you always know when your teacher is talking to you."

"Know how I knew my teachers was talkin' to me?" Merle asked.

"How?"

"Whenever they said "Don't break that," or "Get down," I knew they couldn't mean nobody else," he answered.

"And here I had you pegged as teacher's pet," Sinclaire joked.

"Nah. Didn't much matter anyway, I just killed time till I could join up. Then I didn't like that neither. Came back home and spent my time irritatin' my brother."

"I can see how that would be easy," she admitted.

"He does have him a quick temper," Merle said, as if he didn't. "Teachers hated him too."

"Really?" Now Sinclaire was surprised. "He's so quiet."

"He's a Dixon," Merle said. "Where we came from that was enough. Yer daddy have him any teacher's pets?"

"Not that I know of. Like I said, I was only 8 when he died. He didn't really get into the intricacies of teaching with me. But I'm sure he had favorites; every teacher does."

"Reckon so," Merle agreed. "Ain't ya bored Yank?"

"Bored?" she repeated thoughtfully. "I guess so, a little."

"What'd ya be doin' right now if ya could do anything?"

Sinclaire thought for so long that Merle got impatient and punched her in the arm.

"Ow! I'm thinking!"

"Think faster."

"I don't know," she said at long last. When Merle stared at her in disbelief she said, "I don't! When I was a kid I was in school. After school I was in the Army. I've never really had time to myself. I just…do what I'm supposed to do."

"That's a shitty life."

She shrugged and said, "It's easy."

"Easy ain't what it's all about," Merle shocked them both by saying.

"Yes sir," she said. "I'll try to do better sir."

"Now I like the sound of that."

His grin was incorrigible.

"So what about you?" she asked. "When you're not making fun of my slips in literary discretion, what do you want to do?"

"I used to practically live in a bar," he said with a half laugh. "Now I'm just about goddamned desperate to get the hell outta one. I wanna do all that shit I thought was borin' before. I wanna wake up and cut the grass. I wanna go to Wal-Mart an buy old TV shows outta the 5 dollar bin. I wanna listen to Tom Petty on the tailgate of my little brother's truck and drink a beer by the lake. Simple shit ain't it? Guess ya can tell I'm a damn redneck."

"I can," she answered. "But…I can also tell that underneath all that ass hattery and the drugs, you've always been a fairly decent man."

"Is ass hattery a word? 'Cause I depend on ya to build my vocabulary."

"It's a word. I just made it. We'll write a new dictionary. Ass hattery can be the first addition."

"Shit," Merle drawled. "What about my words?"

"Well, they're all real…you just pronounce them wrong or use them wrong."

"Like what?" he said indignantly.

"Um," Sinclaire tapped her chin and then said, "Ah ha! Okay, how if I say where are you going to sleep and you say, Rat Cheer and you mean Right Here."

"Yer the one sayin' it wrong. That's how ya say it. Bet ya don't put the 'w' in dog either."

"You also put the emphasis on the 'ay' in the word area, and…"

"Had more'n enough outta ya, Yank," Merle said. "I'm fixin' to show ya…_what_?"

"Fixin' to! That's another one!"

"How 'bout this one? Blow me."

"It lacks the necessary Southern charm," Sinclaire informed him. "I could not, in good conscience, put that in a dictionary for future generations."

"Uh huh," Merle drawled. "Go back to yer porn book, imma see about supper."

"And by "see about" you mean hassle someone until they cook for you right?"

"Sure."

"Get them to cook for me too."

"Like the way ya think."

"I like the way you talk," Sinclaire said with a smile.

"I like the way you talk," Daryl drawled from just inside the door, finishing the Slingblade quote.

"Thanks. You can contribute to the dictionary too."

"I'd be honored."

"Hope yer honored enough to cook," Merle said, slapping him on the back. "Ya just got drafted."


	28. Chapter 28

Call her stupid, but Sinclaire had just realized what winter meant. Not just the fact that it was really too cold to do anything or that the hunting was practically done, which put Daryl in such a bad mood that people avoided him nearly as religiously as they avoided Merle, but that her birthday was in August. It was obviously well past August. That only meant one thing. She was thirty years old. She was unreasonably depressed about it and she couldn't explain it to anyone. Complaining about a birthday when there were so few people left alive was about as selfish as it got.

So she'd done what she had always done when she got sad. She took a long hot bath. And damn, if it hadn't been more work than ever before. So many buckets of water! But it was nice to sink into once she'd gotten the temperature right.

Sinclaire sort of smiled to herself when she remembered thanking Daryl for finally hooking up the plumbing and his snarl of, "What the hell else am I gonna do? Fuckin' winter."

"My little brother's come down with a case of cabin fever," Merle had commented sagely. "Ya can't take what he says personally. He's outta his head."

"Yeah fuck you too," Daryl had answered before stomping off in the direction of the woods.

Maybe he was irritated that Carrie had finally given up on him. Nate had brought them back several times. Sometimes he even brought food. Sinclaire couldn't believe what a nice guy he was.

Carrie was nice too. And she liked Tiffany even if she found her incomprehensible. Tiffany had a thing for Merle. A thing. For _Merle_.

Since she was reminiscing, Sinclaire decided to go full force. The conversation she'd had with the two of them last week should cheer her up just to think about anyway.

Carrie had been sitting near the river so she and Tiffany had joined her.

"I saw you talking to Glenn earlier," Sinclaire said, forced again into the awkward task of trying to perform love connections.

Carrie nodded and said, "Well…I do like him a lot and he's closer to my age. He's pretty funny too! But I guess you know that."

"Giving up on Daryl was probably smart," Tiffany said. "I'm not really sure he swings your way."

Sinclaire choked on a laugh and the other two looked at her.

"Oh he does," she said. "It's just that he, uh, he's…" _socially awkward and not interested in you_ seemed like a mean way to end the sentence, so she let it trail off.

"Is he with you?" Carrie asked, misinterpreting Sinclaire totally.

"What?"

"Because if he is," Carrie leaned close. "Is he as good in bed as I think he'd be?"

Sinclaire blushed. She actually blushed. Tiffany laughed.

"Are we rating them now?" she asked Carrie.

"Well, aren't you tired of rating Nate? Not that there isn't a lot to rate," she said with a wriggle of her eyebrows.

"Carrie caught him changing clothes a few weeks ago," Tiff explained for Sinclaire's benefit. "Let's just say there was just cause for excitement."

Carrie was still watching Sinclaire closely. Since she knew Daryl wanted to give the younger woman no cause for encouragement she was briefly tempted to say awful things. But Daryl had always been nice so she only did her best to look coy as she said, "A lady never discusses such things."

'Mmm too good to talk about," Carrie interpreted. "I knew he'd be awesome. His arms! And his voice and his eyes and his body and…"

"And I thought you were into Glenn," Tiff interrupted.

"I am," Carrie said unabashedly. "But that doesn't mean I can't dream. Anyway, we were rating men here."

"Okay," Tiffany said with a smile as she turned toward the bar. "Let's start with Shane."

"Shane?" Sinclaire asked in surprise.

"Yeah. If ever a man walked with swagger…" Tiff said. "And he's got a certain intensity."

'I think he's unhinged," Sinclaire said. "That's not my idea of sexy."

"Ah, so you prefer the stable type? And you're with Daryl?"

"That's a different sort of…and I never said I was _with_ Daryl. We're just…good friends." Since she was desperate to turn the conversation Sinclaire said, "You really think Shane is attractive?"

"Sure," Carrie said. "I agree with Tiff. All that intensity makes a girl feel shivery. You can't help but think he's use those cuffs." She finished the sentence with a giggle.

Sinclaire felt shivery at the thought all right, but probably not in the way Carrie did. She'd have to pass the idea on to Glenn though, just to watch him blush.

"What about Rick?" she asked out of morbid curiosity.

"Too married," Tiff dismissed.

"But he's so nice," Carrie said. "And understanding. I feel like I could tell him anything and he'd know exactly where I was coming from."

"It's a really good quality for a leader to have," Sinclaire said, relived it wasn't sexual.

"Yeah, but who wants that in a man?" Tiff asked. "I want a guy I can fight with."

"Merle Dixon is perfect for you," Sinclaire said dryly.

Tiff gave her a smile and said, "I thought that you two had a thing when I first met him."

"We have a friendship."

"Like you and Daryl have a friendship?" Carrie asked.

"No," Sinclaire found herself flustered again. She wasn't really good at this type of girl talk. "Merle is the first human person I met when the whole thing got started. We kind of bonded…but we never…um…"

"You can say the word sex in front of us," Carrie said. "I'm twenty years old and Tiff was a stripper."

Now that was a surprise. But it explained Merle's attraction even more. Tiffany was looking at Sinclaire, waiting to gauge her reaction. Sinclaire didn't give one.

"So we're not rating Dale?" she asked instead.

Carrie laughed and said, "I bet he's wild!"

Tiffany chuckled too and said, "It's always the ones you don't expect."

Sinclaire felt like she'd done well. She hadn't had to try to stumble through an explanation of what it was like to go to bed with Daryl, which really would have made him look like a terrible lover. Not strictly a lie but certainly unproven. _And_ she'd turned the conversation from awkward to funny. Not bad for a day's work.

"Ya drown out there?" Merle bellowed through the door.

"I'm relaxing!" she yelled back. "You're ruining it!"

"Relaxin' from what? Ya ain't done shit all day!"

"Suck it Dixon!"

She heard him laugh, but she knew he'd never admit it.

"At this point, if I could I would," was all he said.

"Ew!"

"Can't take the heat stay outta the kitchen Yank."

She shampooed her hair and took a deep breath to steel herself to duck under and rinse. She was getting somewhat better about it but not much. She came up with a splash.

"Shit!"

She gasped and inhaled some of the water still dripping from her face at the sound of Daryl's voice. Apparently he was back from wherever he went. If she'd been under the water the porch would have looked deserted. She coughed, covering her chest with one arm and her mouth with the other.

"I'm…I didn't…"

"Go," she choked out. "Just go inside!"

"I…yeah. Yeah. Okay. I'm…I…"

The door opened behind him and Merle stuck his head out.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Ya find somethin' to occupy yer time little brother?"

He didn't miss the fact that even though Daryl was doing what Sinclaire asked, he was doing it slowly and with his eyes locked on her. Thank God that he had some red-blooded male interests. He could see the appeal, other than the fact that she was coughing her head off, Sinclaire didn't look bad. Her chest was a little too flat for Merle's liking, but the water trickling down her lean, muscular body added plenty of visual interest.

"What the hell are you still out here for?" she demanded.

Daryl's face went beet red and he pushed past Merle and into the bar. Merle wriggled his eyebrows at her and followed Daryl. Sinclaire covered her face with both hands, torn between the urge to cry and, oddly, the urge to laugh.

"Hey," Merle said catching up with Daryl in the hallway. "How'd that happen?"

"She musta been under the water," Daryl said. "I wasn't…I didn't do it on purpose. She popped up, scared the hell outta me and then started yellin'!"

"And ya made good and damn sure to get an eyeful 'fore ya did what she said," Merle pointed out.

"No! Yeah…but not…I wasn't…"

"Yer finally growin' up," Merle cut in placing his left hand over his heart. "I'm just so proud."

"Fuck you."

"She's got kinda a small rack," Merle mused. "But fer starters it won't be too bad."

"What the hell?"

"Less to have to concentrate on," Merle explained. "Man's only got two hands. It'll be easier fer ya both."

"Fuck you Merle Dixon!"

That wasn't Daryl; that was Sinclaire. The words were followed by a kick to the back of Merle's knee and, even though she was barefoot, it staggered him. Three quick punches to his arm followed and then she turned and stomped into their bedroom.

"It was a compliment!" he called after her. "Women," he continued with a sigh to Daryl.

Daryl punched him twice in the other arm and stomped off to the room next door.

"And brothers," Merle continued to no one. "What's the world comin' to?"


	29. Chapter 29

"What about Schwarzenegger?"

"The Govenator?" Sinclaire rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'd give him a 50% chance."

"That's pretty low," Glenn argued.

"Crowded state," Daryl pointed out as he stretched his legs down the steps.

"Big target," Sinclaire added.

"Hollywood jackass," Merle called from the kitchen.

"You can't enter the debate from outside visual range!" Sinclaire shouted back.

"Miss lookin' at me?" Merle drawled as he stepped into the doorway.

"It's been positively unbearable," she answered with a grin. "The minutes when you're away making soup drag interminably. Then you show up and I realize that it was probably just hunger pains."

Merle snorted and handed her a beer glass full of venison stew.

"Anyway, I don't think he's a Hollywood jackass," Glenn said, steering them back to the subject.

"Hell, ya talk like ya know him," Merle scoffed.

"Okay, okay. What about Steven Segal?" Glenn persisted.

"Maybe twenty years ago," Merle said. "Didn't he go all pussy Buddhist?"

"Maybe. I mean the Buddhist part, not the pussy part. Although his career has been kind of off for a while if you ask me," Sinclaire said. "And he did that song."

"A song?" Daryl and Glenn repeated at the same time.

"It wasn't bad," Sinclaire said. "The video was a little creepy. The girl was way too young for him and there were elephants. I don't like elephants."

"Sing it," Merle demanded before she could get off track about elephants.

"No!"

"Come on!" Glenn chimed in. "It not like we can go pull it up on YouTube."

"No dice. Besides, I don't even remember it. It wasn't on my ipod or anything."

"Ya didn't have no ipod," Merle said as he took a sip of his own soup.

Sinclaire sighed and said, "Fine. It was the Walkman version. How'd you know?"

"'Cause yer cheap, Yank," Merle said with a grin.

"What about Vin Diesel?" she asked to change the subject.

"Gay," all three men chorused.

"What? No way!"

"'Fraid so," Daryl said with a sage nod.

"He has a kid!"

"So did Clay Aiken. And Ricky Martin. And—"

Sinclaire stood up in righteous indignation and Glenn stopped listing celebrities.

"I will not listen to these wild allegations!" she said firmly. "I'm going."

"Goin' where?" Merle asked as she flounced past him into their bedroom and snatched up her fatigue jacket.

"To the library," she informed him.

"Oh."

"Don't look so disappointed. You're not invited."

"The hell I ain't! Ya don't go nowhere without me, Yank."

He followed blandly as she stormed out.

"Wait!"

They both turned at the truck to see Dale waving them down.

"What is it?" Sinclaire asked.

"I'd like to come too," he said.

"What the fuck for?" Merle growled.

"Different people enjoy different things," Dale said patiently. "I enjoy reading as much as you enjoy…whatever it is you enjoy."

"I'm coming too," Glenn said. "I'm getting cabin fever. So is someone else I know. But he won't invite himself."

Sinclaire looked at Daryl, who was still on the porch steps looking morose.

"Bow hunter," she called.

"Yeah?"

"Get your ass over here."

Daryl stood up and walked over casually as if it didn't matter one way or the other to him. Merle rolled his eyes.

"I got shotgun," Merle said.

"The front seat's big enough for three people," Glenn pointed out.

"Like I give a shit."

Sinclaire cranked the truck and said, "Let's move ladies."

Glenn and Dale climbed into the back when Daryl lifted the sliding door.

"So I'm thinking that when this is all over we should make a celebrity zoo," Glenn said, as if they'd never left the topic of celebrities. "People would pay for sure."

"To see zombiefied celebrities?" Daryl asked in surprise. "What the hell kinda sick fuck—"

"Literally everyone!" Sinclaire interrupted. "I want 50% profit and I'll round them up for you Glenn."

"40%," Glenn said. "It was my idea."

"Ya oughta know better'n to go into business with a Chinaman," Merle said. "Ya gonna give her 60% 'cause she's the one riskin' her ass."

"Fine," Glenn groused.

"From now you're managing all my business endeavors," Sinclaire whispered as she gave Merle a smile.

"I want some of yer take," he said with a shrug. "Figured the more ya get, the more I get."

"Always altruistic."

"I ain't sure what that is but I bet I'm all that and more."

She laughed and flicked on her blinker for the turn into the library parking lot.

They were careful on the way in but Merle and Sinclaire could tell no one had been there since they had graced the building with their presence weeks ago.

"You actually brought some of the books back?" Merle asked when Sinclaire stacked them on the desk.

"Just the ones nobody liked," she defended herself. "I am no thief."

"Lord of the Rings," Daryl said absently.

She shot him an approving smile. Dale ignored them all and made for the card catalog. Sinclaire headed for juvenile fiction. She'd promised Sophia another bagful of Boxcar children books. She grabbed the Inkheart trilogy too. Sophia was a smart kid; she'd probably like it just as much as Sinclaire did.

She could hear Glenn and Dale talking about favorite authors as they perused the catalog. She also heard Merle and Daryl talking in low voices as they stood by the desk stubbornly. Like they hadn't hung onto every word of the last book.

Although…Merle had been pretty pissed at the ending. Maybe he needed something with a guaranteed happy ending. She drifted over to the adult fiction and pulled out some of Robert B. Parker's westerns. They were easy to read and the good guy always came out on top…and alive to gloat over it. Sounded like it should be Dixon brother approved.

Sinclaire wandered the stacks trying to find something for herself. She bypassed Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, and Nicholas Sparks with a curl of her lip. Love stories. Practically Victorian. Love for the sake of love. She snorted under her breath.

"Love is a carnivorous fish."

"The hell does that mean?"

She managed not to jump, but only because she forced herself.

"Bow hunter," she said with an embarrassed chuckle. "I didn't hear you."

"Yeah well, you're not supposed to."

"So you were sneaking up on me on purpose?"

"No! I mean ya know…I was just lookin' and I thought that ya seem to know yer way around the place…and…"

"Relax," she said. "I was just teasing you. And anyway, I've already picked out some books for you and Merle."

She handed him the westerns and he glanced at the covers briefly.

"Looks all right," he acknowledged.

"Did you want something different?" she asked.

"Nah, I don't much care. Just been damn bored lately. Winter's usually when I catch up on my movies."

"Oh," she walked through the stacks and pulled down several Jane Austen books. They were love stories too, but at least they made sense and they were funny. "Don't worry," she said when he gave them a double take. "These are mine. Maybe this whole thing will get worked out soon and you'll be able to borrow some DVD's."

"Yeah maybe."

When she turned to walk to the next row Daryl hadn't moved back and she bumped into him. He caught her when she stumbled.

"Sorry," he said immediately.

"It's okay."

"You sure?" he asked.

That weird feeling shivered through her again. The same feeling she'd had the day they met. She shrugged out his grip.

"I said its okay," she snapped before she spun around and walked off the other way.

Dale walked past him and Daryl followed him through the stacks.

"If I said love is a carnivorous fish what would you say?" he asked awkwardly.

"I'd think you'd been reading John Donne," Dale said. "And I'd be pretty impressed."

"So it's in a book?"

"Well, not exactly. It's a poem. And that isn't how he put it, but it's a generally accepted…"

Daryl waved his hand and said, "That's enough. Got any book suggestions?"

It was worse than asking Sinclaire. By the time Dale walked away Daryl had an armful of books and his head was spinning with further suggestions. He looked down at the book on top. The Shining. Well…the movie hadn't been the best thing he'd ever seen, but he'd give it a shot.

"Everybody ready?" Sinclaire called from the front desk.

"What?" Merle asked when he saw her flinch after she yelled.

"Still feels weird to yell in a library," she admitted.

She handed Merle two bags of books and picked up two more when she saw Dale, Daryl, and Glenn approach from different corners of the library. Leaving was no more eventful than arriving had been and soon they were all settled in the truck. Dale pulled out one of his books and began to read. Glenn had started to do the same thing, but then he began shifting around.

"The fuck ya doin'?" Merle asked as he glanced back.

"I'm sitting on something," Glenn said as he dug through the blankets they'd left back there in case of an emergency. "What is this anyway?"

Sinclaire wished Glenn had just moved over when she glanced in the rearview and saw what he was holding. A bright red plastic box that she knew contained enough morphine to put half the camp down for a winter's nap. The same one Merle had taken from the Army base.

"Emergency supplies," she said shortly. "Put it back."

Merle faced forward without comment but he felt Sinclaire's eyes on him. He swallowed hard and wiped the palm of his hand down his leg; it had suddenly become sweaty. How the hell did he not remember that he'd taken that shit with him?

The rest of the night was average for him; they took the books in and received general fanfare over it. They had supper and Sinclaire started reading one of the Westerns she'd brought back. He thought it was probably a good story. He didn't hear much of it though and when he closed his eyes to try to sleep all he could see was that little red box.


	30. Chapter 30

Merle edged over to the box truck slowly. He'd been watching the group for awhile now and mostly everyone was distracted. Rick and Carl were trying to help Daryl make new crossbow bolts and his brother's jaw was clenched so tight in unexpressed annoyance that Merle thought it was about to shatter. The women were clustered around doing laundry or something that involved boiling water. Andrea and Dale were on top of the RV to keep watch but they were facing in the other direction.

He hadn't been able to distract himself from that little red box for more than ten minutes all day. Now it was back on his mind full force. He slid the back of the truck open and crawled in and then lowered the door carefully. He reached under the blanket Glenn had placed on top of the box, aware and annoyed that he was starting to sweat and that his hand even shook a little.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," a cool voice said from the front of the truck.

Merle bit back his involuntary yell when Sinclaire sat up smoothly and looked at him over the back of the front seat.

"Fuckin' hell Yank! What in the name of Christ—"

"Just had a feeling," Sinclaire said with a slight frown. "I was hoping I was wrong."

"Yeah well, ya wasn't. Disappointed?" Merle snarled.

"Yeah."

Merle didn't know what to say. Contrary to popular belief, there had been people in his life that had cared that he was an addict. Those people had never admitted to being disappointed in him. They said stuff like, "Everyone backslides; it's the nature of addiction." and "I'm sure it won't happen again. You're getting stronger all the time." or, in Daryl's case, because a lot of the time it was Daryl's money, "Well, I'll just fix the truck later then. Ya need somethin' 'fore I go to work?" He'd never faced such naked disappointment. He discovered that he couldn't meet her eyes. It pissed him off.

"Who the fuck are ya to be disappointed in me anyway?" he snarled.

"I'm your friend," Sinclaire said as she climbed over the seat to sit in the truck bed beside him. "I—"

"I don't give one little fuck if ya think we're friends," he cut in. "Ain't none of ya damn business what I do with my life."

Sinclaire was surprised at how hurt she felt at hearing him talk to her like that, but she pushed the feeling down and said, "It is my business if someone's wasting supplies I risked my life to get though."

"I'm the one who brought this with us!"

"And you wouldn't have even known it was there if I hadn't told you! What if someone needs this stuff later?"

"Finders keepers," Merle said mulishly. "Don't give a shit 'bout none of them."

"What about Daryl? He could…he might step in a bear trap. And then we'd have to take off his leg at the knee and then how would you feel?"

"I'd wonder where the fuck the dumbass found a goddamn bear trap."

"Beside the point. Your brother needs his leg amputated and you've shot up all the morphine. What _do_ you do?"

"Reckon I'd knock him out if he hadn't passed out already," Merle said. "Ya ain't gettin' no sympathy outta me for any damn body Yank. I cut off my own damn hand remember?"

"And wouldn't it have gone easier if someone was there with some morphine?"

"It would have gone easier if someone was there with a key!" Merle bellowed.

"If you do this I—"

"You'll what?" Merle drawled insolently.

"I won't be your friend anymore."

Sinclaire felt just as shocked by her words as Merle looked.

"Did ya just say—"

"Yes. And I meant every apparently childish word."

Merle didn't know what to say. He was sure that she meant it; he could see determination mixed with the hurt in her brown eyes. What he was even more sure of surprised the hell out of him though; he was sure that he would regret losing her. But was he sure enough?

Sinclaire held herself still and waited for him to decide what was more important. After several long silent moments Merle's frown intensified and he spoke gruffly.

"What the fuck was you and Lori arguin' about this mornin' anyway? Fuckin' woke me up."

"It was a discussion of epic literary proportions," Sinclaire said casually so her relief didn't show. "She actually asked me to bring some Nora Roberts books back next time."

Merle's frown smoothed out as Sinclaire's deepened.

"Thought ya said that everybody should be readin'," he said. "Thought ya said some shit was just a matter of taste. Thought ya said—"

"I don't care what I said," Sinclaire interrupted. "It was the way she asked. She said, "Bring back something _good_. Like Nora Roberts or Danielle Steele." She might as well have asked for…for…" Sinclaire couldn't think of anything bad enough.

Merle barked out a laugh and shook his head.

"Yer passionate about some weird shit, ya know that Yank?"

Sinclaire only shrugged and said, "I can't help it. I grew up with high literary standards."

"Uh-huh. Why don't ya give Lori that dirty book ya was readin'?"

As he'd expected, Sinclaire's face went dull red at the mention of Lady Amanda's Rakish Rogue.

"I was only using that book as research."

"Into fuckin'?"

"No. Into…um…the low expectations of the average American reader," she finished in triumph.

"Uh huh," Merle drew the word out. "Either way, I don't think Nora Roberts is enough to pitch a fit about."

"Pitch a fit," Sinclaire repeated. "That could go in the dictionary."

"Hell, everybody knows what pitch a fit means," Merle argued. "Think I'm gonna go get somethin' to drink. Leave ya to yer broodin'."

"I am not brooding," she answered. "I am in deep thought. It's different."

"Broodin' like a hen," Merle said as he slid out of the truck. "Enjoy it Yank."

He walked off. Sinclaire waited until she knew he couldn't see her before she sagged with relief against the side of the truck. She wasn't optimistic enough to assume that he'd never be tempted again, but she was incredibly grateful that it had gone so well. She watched him walk down to the river, his left hand in his jeans pocket, the stump where his right should have been in the pocket of his jacket. She was just wondering why he was walking so softly when she saw Daryl on the bank of the river, up farther where the drop was significant. He must've given up on the bolts. Merle wouldn't—she held her breath when Merle slammed his right shoulder into his brother's left. Daryl teetered but he didn't fall, mainly because Merle grabbed the back of his shirt and held him upright.

She saw Daryl punch Merle in the gut as his lips moved in indignation, but she knew that neither brother was angry. Daryl should have been in the truck with her; she'd seen him watching Merle anxiously throughout the day. But he'd ignored it rather than fight it. It was odd. Daryl was a protector, a survivor. So why the hell couldn't he stand up to his big brother?

Sinclaire drew her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them to conserve warmth as she watched the Dixon brothers. Merle was gesturing to the lake front homes they still hadn't gotten around to investigating and Daryl was shrugging. The movement of his arms and chest, just out of visual range, played though Sinclaire's mind anyway and that unfamiliar feeling she got around Daryl lately burst down her spine. What the hell was it?

She cataloged unfamiliar emotions as ruthlessly as a computer program for the next several minutes and finally decided on sympathy. Yes, sympathy. It wasn't something she had to feel often, it was alien, just like the sensations that tended to sweep through her when Daryl was around. That had to be it.

Poor guy, he _was_ as awkward as Merle had made him sound. The guys she was accustomed to were confident, motivated soldiers and officers. And if they weren't confident and motivated then the military had no problem weeding them out. So, she was sympathetic for poor, awkward, unconfident Daryl.

Or was she? She frowned as she analyzed further. Daryl seemed confident about some things though. He was good at everything that someone needed to be good at in this situation. He was absolutely confident about hunting and trapping. Confident about building and plumbing. Confident about what had been wrong with the truck engine when it was sputtering last week.

She thought back to the way he'd looked as he closed the hood and wiped the grease off of his hands with the red rag he kept in his back pocket. "Should do fine now," he'd informed her. "Told ya it wasn't nothin'." Then he'd given her a half grin and walked away.

Sinclaire discovered she was chewing her thumbnail. Her stomach had gone tight too. What the hell?

She was relieved to be distracted by the sound of Nate's SUV pulling into their backyard. He gave her a wave when he got out and she saw Merle and Daryl head over, identical scowls on their faces. Merle's frown smoothed out when Tiff got out of the backseat, but there was apparently no help for Daryl's irritation. He brushed past the group and went into the bar.

Nate walked over to the truck and sat down beside Sinclaire.

"Hey," he said. "Smuggled something just for you."

"Oh really?"

Nate reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a can of pears in syrup.

"Found it in the grocery store. It was on the floor," he explained with a smile. "But I think it's okay."

Sinclaire wasn't listening. She was popping the top. She took a sip of the juice and sighed. She loved pears.

"Want one?" she asked a few moments later.

"I'm not a big fan," Nate admitted. "They taste like they're full of sand to me."

Sinclaire chewed thoughtfully and then said, "I guess I can see how you got there. More for me."

He returned the grin she gave him and they sat in silence for a few minutes as they watched the group.

"So," he said abruptly. "Carrie tells me that you and Daryl have a thing."

Sinclaire took longer than necessary to chew her mouthful of pear. She didn't want to lie, but she had Glenn's cover to maintain.

"I figured you had something going on with Merle personally," he went on.

She snorted.

"Yep. You've got me. The Dixon brothers share me," she said with a nod. "It's such a relief to have it in the open."

"Uh huh," Nate said dryly. "Well, now certainly isn't the time to pursue conventional relationships."

"Are you asking me to join your harem?" she teased with a glance Tiff and Carrie's way.

"Crossed my mind."

Oh shit. He looked serious. Obviously not serious about a harem, but serious about…her. She cast a frantic look Merle's way, but he wasn't paying any attention.

"Hey."

She nearly sagged with relief when she heard Daryl's voice. He'd come back from the bar familiarly belligerent and holding a bottle of whiskey. He took a swig before he spoke again.

"Ya'll had any trouble with them things?"

"No," Nate said. "Not really. A few strays…nothing I can't handle."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Ran into some in the woods yesterday. 'Bout ten. 'Course, it wasn't nothin' I couldn't handle neither."

"I think I'll leave you two to talk zombies," Sinclaire said. "Go and say hello to the others, you know?"

She got up before either of them could answer, not that she really thought they would. She didn't know why Daryl had decided to have a conversation with Nate, who he seemed to avoid at all costs, but she wasn't complaining.

She'd planned to start talk to the girls, but Carrie was chatting with Glenn and Tiffany was leaning against the RV flirting with Merle. It looked like she was out of luck. She sat on the porch steps, tucked her hands in her jacket pockets to keep them warm and watched people socialize. She refused to admit that she felt a little lonely without Merle to chat with.

Instead, Sinclaire convinced herself it was better to have some quiet time. She needed to think of a good place to hide that morphine box.


	31. Chapter 31

"We're out of toilet paper?!"

Normally, Sinclaire wouldn't have been excited to hear Rick's news, but it would give her a chance to get out of the bar for a while. She felt tense and she couldn't put her finger on the reason why. Maybe she was afraid that Daryl and Nate were going to end up fighting. Her gaze went back to Merle and Tiffany. Maybe she just didn't want to watch them make out. God, how much closer was she going to stand to him? Seriously. Get a damn room.

"Captain Lewis is on the case!" she went on, prying her eyes away from the happy couple.

"Does Captain Lewis mind being accompanied by Officer Grimes?" Rick asked with a slight smile. "It is sort of my mission."

"Sure," she answered. "You can get us a vehicle. The box truck is occupied."

Daryl and Nate were still having what looked like a tense conversation near it and she didn't feel like getting in the middle just to drive the truck.

Rick nodded and waved Shane over. A short conversation produced the keys to Shane's Jeep and they headed out. She didn't bother to invite either Dixon brother, even though Daryl had looked hopeful. Merle hadn't noticed.

She and Rick didn't spend much time together anyway. Not that they avoided each other or didn't like each other. It was just that she recognized this as his command and didn't want to step on his toes, and he recognized that she handled Merle better than anyone else could ever hope to, so he didn't get in her way either.

He got behind the wheel and they headed out. There were a few random zombies along the roadside but nothing that the Jeep couldn't outrun easily.

"So," Rick said after some time. "How's Merle doing?"

"Pretty good," Sinclaire answered. "We had a little crisis moment earlier with the morphine. Hey, that might work! Rick, would you mind hiding a box of morphine for me? I really don't think Merle would suspect you."

"Sure," Rick answered. "Where'd you get a box of morphine?"

"Army supply base," she explained. "It was before we met up with you guys. I think Merle had forgotten it, but then Glenn found it and reminded him."

"But he didn't take it?"

"He let me talk him out of it," Sinclaire corrected.

"I'm really surprised at how different he is when you're around," Rick said. "You wouldn't have believed how much of a—"

"Oh yes I would," Sinclaire interrupted. "Merle and I have had our differences."

"You handle him well," Rick said simply. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be in the company of humans," Sinclaire said, feeling a little awkward. She knew Rick wasn't coming on to her, but he was being nice and she was more used to the "insults=compliments" style of getting along. "Did Nate tell you how to get to the store?"

"Yeah. What do you think of him and the girls?"

"He's okay. The girls seem to be a hit."

"I'd noticed," Rick agreed dryly. "I really thought Carrie was going to have her way with Daryl for a while there, whether he liked it or not."

Sinclaire chuckled and nodded. "I threw her off the scent though," she said. "And now look at how happy Glenn is. I truly do make magic."

Rick smiled and pulled into the grocery store parking lot. He held the door open for Sinclaire and they headed for the paper goods section to load up what Rick referred to as a "buggy."

"Seriously? Buggy?" Sinclaire asked. "That can go in the redneck dictionary."

"It's not redneck," Rick said seriously. "It's Southern charm. What do you call it?"

"A shopping cart," she said. "It is what it is."

"And it's a buggy."

"Dune or punch?" Sinclaire teased.

Rick punched her lightly in the arm and they began loading the cart. When it was full, they took it to the Jeep and then went back for anything else they could find. They'd taken another load out and Sinclaire was browsing the canned foods when she heard a clatter and a confused grunt.

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

It wasn't Rick making the noise. His voice had come from her right. The clatter had come from the back left of the store.

"I think we've got company."

She heard his footsteps approaching and she drew both guns from her vest pockets. The zombie shuffled around the corner. It grew more animated when it saw her and picked up its pace. She fired. The bullet grazed its head and took off an ear but it still advanced. Rick fired from behind her and dropped it.

"Sharpshooting has never been my thing," she said, slightly embarrassed.

"I've always had decent aim," Rick acknowledged. "It's improved lately though."

"Lots of targets," she agreed.

Another shuffle and they walked backwards, going around the aisle to see where the zombies could be coming in from. Nate had never mentioned seeing any of them when he went on supply runs.

"This isn't good," Rick said after a second. "Look."

Sinclaire looked in the direction he'd indicated. The swinging door in the back of the store swung languorously forward and another zombie trudged in. Before the doors swung shut she saw that the back door at the loading dock was open.

"Think we should retreat?" she asked.

Rick looked undecided and she could see why. Was it better to go and give the store over to the zombies or to kill them off and close up so they could come back? It all depended on how many there were and neither of them knew the answer to that. But it was winter and there wasn't as much food. They needed this store.

Sinclaire and Rick took deep breathes and stepped back to take out the one that they knew of. Sinclaire managed to land the shot just right this time and then the doors swung forward again.

"Our situation has not improved," she said idiotically.

If Daryl had been there he would have pointed out that the quote came from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. She missed bow hunter suddenly. Probably because a hoard of zombies was headed toward them. Rick grabbed her arm and dragged her backward.

"No point," he said. "We gotta go."

She ran after him as zombies ran after them both. They crashed into stacked cans and other floor displays, sending them toppling and creating an impromptu obstacle course. Sinclaire was disgusted with herself when she stumbled and nearly tripped but Rick held her up and she felt better when the same thing happened to him a few seconds later. She'd never eat another canned tomato again. Tricky bastards.

She turned to cover them while Rick shoved open the doors they'd been so careful to close for safety. Someone hadn't been quite so smart in the back. She fired into the crowd of zombies, really focusing on making each shot count and Rick finally pried the doors open.

They ran for the Jeep, not bothering to close the doors again. The store was as good as gone for now anyway. She jumped in and Rick followed. He gunned the motor and they took off down the street.

"Thanks," Sinclaire said once the hoard was behind them. "For the shooting and for catching me when I tripped over the canned tomatoes of death."

"Are you kidding?" Rick asked. "Do you know what Merle would do to me if I came back without you?"

Note: I'm sorry that it always takes me so long to update this story, but I promise not to let it die out! Thanks to everyone who reads and comments and likes it. It makes me so happy to see comments and faves and such!


	32. Chapter 32

As Tiff worked herself closer and Merle thought pleasantly of the good old days in the titty bar back home, he saw Daryl walk past for the second or third time.

"Done chattin' baby brother?" he asked with a grin Daryl's way.

His brother didn't know it yet, but Merle planned some merciless teasing about the way Daryl had separated Nate and Yank.

"I wasn't chattin'," Daryl snapped in annoyance.

"Didn't know ya felt that way," Merle said with a raised eyebrow.

"About what?"

"If ya wasn't chattin' then ya musta been flirtin'," Merle explained. "I guess it's better'n the chink-"

"Go to hell," Daryl snarled.

Merle laughed. Tiff glanced between the brothers and Merle slung his arm around her shoulders.

"Ain't nothin' to worry about honey," he said. "We're a downright nuclear family since we met Yank, ain't we Daryl?"

Daryl shrugged without answering. Merle glanced around out of habit but he didn't see Sinclaire anywhere.

"Just now noticed?" Daryl asked. "She took off with Rick 'bout half an hour ago."

"What?" Merle bellowed.

Daryl looked grimly triumphant to be the bearer of news that bothered Merle so much.

"Yep," he went on. "Supply run."

"Why the hell didn't she say somethin'?"

"Maybe she saw that you were busy," Tiff said pointedly.

Merle bit back the urge to tell her to shut up. He didn't want to ruin his chances of a fuck. He knew Sinclaire could take care of herself. But...he'd gotten used to having her around. It was uncomfortable not knowing where she was.

As always, he took it out of Daryl.

"And just what the hell are ya still hangin' around for?" he snarled. "Got better things to do than look at ya."

"Fine, fine," Daryl grumbled as he walked away.

"You're kind of mean to him," Tiff pointed out.

"Yeah. Somebody had to toughen him up. Anyway, I'm damn nice to you and that's what ya oughta be worried about."

Sinclaire and Rick drove along in silence. The hoard had been left behind fairly easily, but it worried both of them.

"You think it was Nate that left the door open?" Rick asked.

"I don't know," Sinclaire answered. "But I plan to find out."

She pressed the pedal down harder. If Nate had set them up then anything in the world could have gone wrong while they were out. Of course the Dixon brothers weren't exactly idiots...and bow hunter had cornered Nate pretty well. Did he know something she didn't? She took a deep breath. Getting paranoid and impatient wouldn't help.

"At least we got the toilet paper," Rick said.

"Always a plus."

When they pulled into the driveway everyone rushed over to meet them so Sinclaire started handing bags out.

"I want to talk to you," she said to Nate.

"Sure," he said. "Want me to carry anything?"

"No. Come on."

"Hey!" Merle called after her. "Where the hell ya think yer goin'? I wanna talk to ya!"

"I'll be back," she said impatiently. "I need to talk to Nate."

"So, what is it?" Nate asked when they'd stopped near the drop off to the river.

"The store was compromised," Sinclaire said bluntly. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Compromised how?"

"You tell me."

"Are you interrogating me?" Nate asked in a low voice.

"Are you avoiding my questions?" she asked, matching his tone.

"No. No I didn't know that the store was compromised. I was in there five days ago and everything was fine."

"Who was with you?"

"Carrie and Tiff, who else?"

"They have any reason to fuck things up?"

"No," Nate said dryly. "They enjoy eating."

Sinclaire looked into his eyes. He didn't look away. She sighed and took her hand out of her pocket. She probably wouldn't need the gun right now.

"Satisfied?" he asked tightly.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

She gave him a brief run down and he frowned.

"Neither of the girls had any reason to go near the back door. It couldn't have been them. And it sure as hell wasn't me."

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Sinclaire said in disgust. "What kind of Captain would I be if I didn't check?"

"You don't trust me."

"Damn right I don't. You trust me?"

She saw Nate wrestle briefly with the question before saying, "No. Not really."

"Then don't bitch."

"I'm not bitching," he said, sounding insulted.

Sinclaire shrugged and gave him a smile.

"Sounds like it to me," she said over her shoulder as she walked away.

When she turned around she bumped into Daryl.

"Sorry bow hunter."

"Whatever. Have a nice talk?"

Her eyebrows went up as he practically spat the question at her.

"Uh...yes?"

He snorted and walked away.

"Weird."

She walked into the bar where Lori and Carol were digging through the groceries they'd managed to get.

"Spaghetti," Carol suggested.

"No sauce," Andrea pointed out.

"We've got canned tomatoes though," Lori countered.

"Oh God don't mention those," Sinclaire groaned. "I've always thought they tasted bad and now it's personal."

Everyone, including Daryl who'd come in right after her, gave her an odd look so she didn't elaborate.

"All I'm saying is that, if possible, I'd like you to explore alternate side dishes."

Still nothing. She sighed and walked down the hall. Daryl followed. His footsteps, normally quiet, sounded heavy. Was he stomping? Why the hell was he mad at her?

She opened the door to the room she and Merle shared and started changing clothes.

"So where'd ya go Yank?"

"Shit! Merle!"

She wrapped her jacket around herself quickly and turned to face him.

"What?" he asked. "I don't have to knock in my own damn room do I?"

"Turn around," she snapped.

"Not 'till ya tell me why the hell ya ran off without tellin' me," he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You looked busy," she said. "All cozied up to Tiffany like that."

"So yer jealous," he said.

"Burning with it," she agreed. "Now get out lest I be tempted to ravish you."

Merle turned his back but he didn't leave.

"Don't do it again," he said. "I don't trust nobody else to look after ya."

"Look after me?" she questioned as she changed quickly.

"Yep."

"I don't need-"

"So everything was fine? No trouble?"

Shit.

"Well..."

Merle spun back around.

"And yer all right? No scratches, no-"

"Yes, I _was_ bitten five times, but I assumed I'd be fine."

"Don't fuck with me ya smartass."

"I'm fine Merle. Do you want to hear what happened or not?"

"Hell, ya might as well tell everybody at once. Fuckin' nosy bastards..."

His voice trailed off as he walked away. Sinclaire figured he was probably right. A briefing, just like old times.

Except that these people interrupted and conjectured and generally irritated the piss out of her the whole time she was trying to talk.

"All right!" she finally shouted over the noise. "That's enough!"

"Tell 'em Yank," Merle said from where he was leaning against the bar.

She gave the gist of the zombie infested grocery store and then said, "Now. Any questions?"

Carol half raised her hand and Sinclaire softened slightly.

"What is it?"

"Do you think that...well...they might be headed this way?"

"I think it's something we should all be ready for," she answered.

On that note they all went to dinner. Nate, Carrie, and Tiffany stayed since they'd contributed a jar a pasta sauce to the meal. Glenn and Carrie took their meal to the front porch amid "Oh aren't they cute" stares from the rest of the group. They didn't seem to notice. Merle and Tiffany were sitting side by side with their backs against the refrigerator. Carl and Sophia were side by side as well. Had everyone paired off? Or was she just noticing it because her "other half" was a dirty rotten deserter? And his little brother too. She took a second appreciate the movie reference before focusing on the fact that Daryl was as far away from her as he could get. What was his problem?

She decided to go get some air after dinner. She bundled up and went to the back porch. The sun was setting over the river. It was actually really pretty. The door creaked open and she turned.

"Hi Sophia. Do you need something?"

"No," Sophia answered with a shake of her head. "Carl was teasing me and I knew you were out here so Mom said I could come out."

"Want me to pound the little punk?" Sinclaire asked, and even though they both knew she was kidding, Sophia nodded. "Have a seat."

Sophia sat next to her and they watched the sun set in silence.

"Sinclaire?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think...do you think we're safe?"

Sinclaire wanted to tell her to go ask her mommy. She didn't want to say "No kid, we're all pretty much screwed." but she also didn't want to say "Sure! What are you crazy? Everything's fine!" She chewed her lip in thought.

"We'll do our best to make sure that we survive this thing," was all she came up with in the end.

Sophia nodded. Heavy footsteps approached the door and Daryl stomped past them.

"Where are you going?" Sinclaire called. "It's almost dark."

"I got eyes," he snapped. "Just goin' to the truck."

"Okay fine."

She and Sophia exchanged glances.

"Do you know what his problem is?"

"He doesn't like Nate."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's always giving him mean looks when he talks to you-"

Sophia broke off when Daryl came back.

"I'd better go in," she said shyly.

"See you kid," Sinclaire said. "Bow hunter."

"What?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Huh?"

"Are you buying time by pretending you didn't hear me?"

"Huh?"

"Damn it Daryl!"

"Huh. That's the first time I've ever heard ya say my name. Except when ya called me out for bein' a virgin."

She smiled at the way he looked over both shoulders and lowered his voice when he said that last part.

"Ya 'bout ready to go in?" he asked. "Gettin' cold."

"Sure."

She was surprised when he stretched his hand out but she took it and allowed him to help her up. She shivered. She must have been colder than she thought. She walked down the hall. Nate was camping in the kitchen; she could still hear Carrie and Glenn on the front porch. Everyone else was in bed; they all tending to hit the sack when the sun went down.

She stepped into the room and then gasped and stepped back so fast that she stepped on Daryl's feet.

"What the...oh."

Tiff covered her face with one hand and yanked the blankets up with the other. Merle gave them both an unrepentant grin.

"You'll have to bunk with my baby brother tonight, Yank," was all he said.

"Uh," Daryl began once the door was closed.

Whatever he was going to say died when Glenn and Carrie came down the hall, brushed past them and closed Daryl's bedroom door firmly.

"Hey!" he said indignantly.

"Keep it down!" Shane yelled. "People are sleeping!"

"Not everybody," Sinclaire said in an undertone. "Want to go to the truck?"

Daryl felt his knees go weak but he nodded in what he hoped was a casual way.

"Sure. Lead the way."


	33. Chapter 33

"So," Daryl said as Sinclaire slid the back door of the truck open. "Why didn't ya wanna camp with Nate?"

Nate had offered as they were walking out but Sinclaire had told him that she would feel more comfortable in the truck. "Seriously, what is your deal with him? He's not a bad guy. We would have had to eat our pasta with canned tomatoes if it wasn't for him."

"I just don't like him. I don't have to like him. And ain't nothin' wrong with canned tomatoes. Probably better for ya than spaghetti sauce."

They closed the truck door and Daryl flicked his lighter so that Sinclaire could see to arrange the blankets she'd left back there.

"If I freeze to death tonight be sure that your redneck brother feels guilty forever," she said.

Daryl tossed her one of the blankets she'd given him.

"Here. I ain't gonna get as cold as you."

"More and more you prove that chivalry isn't dead. In a weird abrasive way."

"Yeah well. Ya can't have yer cake and eat it too."

"I don't see why not. What's the point of having cake if you can't eat it?" Sinclaire lay on her back with her hands behind her head, as wrapped up as she could get without turning herself into a living mummy.

"Hell I don't know. It's like when somebody says their kid's cute as a bug. Bugs ain't cute; what they are is fuckin' disgustin'."

Sinclaire chuckled and said, "I heard somebody—before this whole thing started—say that some kid was "just as cute as they could be."

"Yeah?"

"Well isn't everybody? I mean who would go around not being as cute as they could be?"

Daryl gave one of his rare, quiet half laughs and nodded.

"Ya'll could put that in yer southern dictionary."

"Yes. Southern phraseology will have its place in history."

"Ya ain't mad about Merle and Tiff are ya?"

"What? It's not like I didn't see it coming."

In the silence that followed she thought she heard Daryl snort.

"Ew! Not...no! I mean it's not like I didn't know that she and..."

The snort turned into a full laugh. She reached out in the darkness and connected solidly with his ribs. It didn't help; Daryl laughed until he had to catch his breath. Sinclaire crossed her arms huffily and turned to face him. The moon was up and now that her eyes had adjusted she could see him faintly. He grinned at her.

"So ya really ain't upset?"

"I...no. I wish I'd had some warning so I didn't have to see it in action. But no, I'm not mad."

"Lots of people figure yer in love with my brother."

"I think Tiff would claw my eyes out."

"Ya could take her. And I think ya should. Be fun to watch."

"A catfight over Merle would be too much stimulation for him. He might have a heart attack and we need him around."

"Yeah. I guess. So we won't invite him when it happens."

"Do you think I'm in love with your brother?"

"Kinda. Well I mean I did. I figure ya have to love him to put up with him."

Sinclaire thought about that. Did she love Merle? Nah. No way. If she loved him she'd be mad at him for banging Tiff. Right?

"Or is it one of those ya love him like a brother things?" Daryl asked hopefully.

"I've never had a brother," she answered. "So I have no relevant data for comparison."

"I've only got the one. And I don't think he's what ya call normal."

"What do you think about Carrie and Glen?"

"Think they better keep it to their own damn mattress," Daryl said darkly.

"Hey, you could have had that."

"Carrie?"

"No," Sinclaire said sarcastically. "Glen."

"I didn't want to. With Carrie."

"So you did want Glen?"

"No! Christ. Merle's a fuckin' bad influence."

"Why didn't you want Carrie? She's cute and young and she was crazy about you."

Daryl shrugged.

"Just didn't."

"Has there ever been anyone you did want?" Sinclaire hadn't meant to get so personal. Maybe it was easier in the mostly-dark.

"Yeah. Just never really happened. What about you?"

"No."

"Just like that? Just...no?"

She was sorry she'd asked Daryl. Having the tables turned felt like shit.

"I've got my reasons. I just...don't like sex."

"So yer ahead of me then," he said ruefully. "I got no relevant data for comparison."

"There are worse things in life than being a virgin," she said, trying to speak lightly so he wouldn't press the subject.

"Not at the end of the damn world."

"So why not jump on Carrie?"

"I knew Glen liked her all right? I'm not a jackass."

"No you're really not. It's nice. Both of you are in nice. In a weird, abrasive way."

Silence fell between them. All of Daryl's hopes and dreams about spending the night with her were starting to die. He sighed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well...good night then."

"Yeah."

She knew he wasn't asleep. She couldn't stop thinking about what Sophia had said. Did Daryl hate Nate because he thought Nate wanted her. Or in simpler terms: did Daryl want her? She was surprised by the smile that crossed her face at the silly thought. Usually if she had even the slightest indication that a man wanted her she made herself scarce. Maybe it was because Daryl was far from suave. It'd probably take him another year to make his move. She mentally smacked herself. It must have been seeing Merle and Tiffany that had put her mind in the gutter.

She sighed and rolled over. She missed talking to Merle.

"Ya okay?"

"Sure. Just not sleepy."

"Me either."

"Too bad there's nothing to do."

Daryl could think of a couple of things, but he kept them to himself.

"What do ya talk about with Merle? I'm always hearin' ya'll chatterin'."

"Pretty much everything. He's still stuck on those million dollar houses."

"Yeah. Can't blame him. I been in some like 'em for work and ya wouldn't believe the shit they waste money on."

"What did you do?"

"Cut and installed glass. Borin' but I'm damn good at it."

"So is that what you were doing in the million dollar houses?"

"Yeah. All glass showers and stuff like that. What about you?"

"You know what I did," she said in surprise.

"Well yeah, but was that it? What'd ya really wanna do?"

"All I ever wanted to do was be in the military," she said honestly. "I did ROTC and all that."

"Pickle," Daryl said.

She punched him. He caught her hand and punched her lightly in return.

"That's all you've got?" she teased.

"Ya wanna go 'round with me Yankee?"

"I...think there's still a box of needles somewhere in here," she hedged. "Might not be the best idea."

"It's okay," he said. "Ya can admit yer scared."

She snorted even though it wasn't exactly a lie. Her heart was pounding the way it always did when someone got unexpectedly physical with her.

"I just don't want to give people the wrong impression. Think of what Merle would say if he happened to look out and see the truck rocking."

"Hell, he'd never believe it," Daryl said darkly.

"We could always not and say we did," she pointed out. "If you need the cred."

"What's the point? Anyway, he'd ask me questions about ya that ya probably don't want me makin' up answers to."

"I shudder to think of the questions that Merle would ask about sex," Sinclaire admitted. "Okay, so no wrestling, no fake sex. I'm going to sleep."

"Yeah. And I'll just lay here. Alone. Till I die."

She heard him roll over. He'd actually sounded pissed off. Was he mad at her? Had he expected...all of a sudden she was almost positive that he might have been at least hopeful that they were going to...

"Sophia says you hate Nate because you like me," she blurted out, throwing her young friend under the bus.

"Oh fuck," Daryl groaned.

"It's crazy right? Kids. Crazy kids," Sinclaire said, trying to laugh. "I don't even know why I brought it up—"

"She's right. I mean kinda. I...Nate's a fuckin' prick. But...yeah. I...do...like you. I'm..." he trailed off when she sat up.

"You want to sleep with me?"

He'd never heard her voice so tight or so high pitched.

"No. Yeah. I mean if ya wanted to I wouldn't turn ya down. But...I mean not right this second. Unless ya want to."

"I don't," she said quickly and emphatically.

"Okay."

She didn't miss the hurt in his voice and she felt like a bitch. Her heart was trying to climb into her throat and even though her brain knew that Daryl wasn't going to do anything she didn't want done, her body didn't believe it. Her muscles had gone tense and she felt sweat trickle down her back. Her breathing was getting ragged and her nails dug into her palms. The truck suddenly felt too small, airless and hot.

"Sinclaire?"

She saw him reach toward her and she pressed herself back against the side of the truck.

"Don't. Don't touch me."

Daryl kept his movements slow, just like he was following a spooked deer. He moved to her side of the truck and sat down beside her, close but not touching. He could tell that she was trying to calm down. God. What had happened to her?

"If ya don't want me ya could just say so," he said when her breathing had leveled out. "I ain't gonna throw myself off that cliff out there if ya turn me down. Matter of fact, I'm kinda used to it."

She half laughed, half gasped in relief. He wasn't mad at her!

"I feel like such an idiot," she admitted. "I've gotten a lot better over the years. I used to flip out when people touched me. But now..." she stopped talking abruptly.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing. Never mind."

"So...it ain't just me? It's everybody?"

"Pretty much."

"Shit. Well...ya said yer better'n ya used to be. Maybe..."

"What? You're going to wait for me?" she asked with a despondent laugh.

"What the hell else am I doin'? I ain't the type that gets a whole lotta action."

"You could. I'm pretty sure you don't freak out the way I just did."

"No," Daryl said decidedly. "I don't think I would. But I'm pretty sure that I ain't had nothin' as bad as what happened to ya happen to me."

"I hope not. Now can we forget this?"

"Reckon so," he answered. "If ya really wanna."

He moved back over to his side of the truck and Sinclaire laid down again, arranging her blankets.

"Bowhunter?" he heard her whisper when he was nearly asleep.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Wanting me to be your special lady." Her voice quavered with barely held back laughter.

"Ah suck it," he answered. "Go to sleep."

"Seriously," she said a moment later. "Thanks."

"Anytime. And I mean that."

A Note: One of the people who commented on chapter 32 and the Daryl/Sinclaire/Merle relationship thing hit the nail almost totally on the head. For the sake of intrigue (and my own amusement bwhahahaaahha) I will not say who. Hopefully you all stay tuned!


	34. Chapter 34

_**This chapter is dedicated fondly to Brazen Hussy for her dedication. And the safety of my legs. :)**_

"Mornin' sunshine!"

"The fuck?" Sinclaire heard Daryl groan as the truck door was yanked open.

"Good morning Merle," she answered as she sat up. "You're up early."

He crawled into the truck and sat down beside her.

"Yeah well...slept pretty good. Good fuck's the best way to get to sleep. Guess ya'll wouldn't know about that," he finished with an appraising glance at the space between them.

"You know I'm not a cuddler," Sinclaire said offhandedly.

Merle tried to hide his shock. "Ya sayin'..."

"Why should you have all the fun?"

Daryl was sitting up too by now and she knew his confused expression would give the whole thing away so she stretched long and luxuriously to keep Merle' eyes on her. It always worked. He watched her move with obvious approval before he spoke again.

"So ya really did? Good goin' Yank. I-" he turned to say something to Daryl and then said, "Ah yer lyin'."

"Damn it," Sinclaire muttered. "You couldn't manage to look a_ little __bit_ recently-laid?"

"He don't know what the hell it looks like," Merle pointed out. "Ready to eat?"

"Shouldn't you be taking your new woman to breakfast?" Sinclaire asked.

"Shit. She ain't my woman. We just fucked."

"No future there?"

"What the hell ya want from me? Think I oughta get down on one knee over one roll in the hay?"

"Only if it's the best one you've ever had," Sinclaire said with a smile.

Merle shrugged. "No complaints. Ya know, she can-"

"Let's eat," Daryl said suddenly.

Sinclaire agreed wholeheartedly.

They walked in. Glenn and Carrie were sitting at the bar with their heads together, whispering and laughing. Daryl's dark scowl in their direction didn't dampen their mood at all. Tiff waved Merle over.

"Where'd you go?" she purred. "I woke up alone."

"Shit happens. Checkin' on my baby brother."

"Your brother or Sinclaire?" The purr was distinctly missing now.

"In the truck together wasn't they? Calm down."

Tiffany muttered something under her breath and got a plate. She didn't get one for Merle. He shrugged and got one down. She pissed him off, but in a comfortable, normal way. He was used to girls like her. He glanced at Sinclaire. She was talking to Sophia and absently eating one of the pancakes Carol had cooked. It was a funny looking pancake. Made sense though. They were out of just about everything. He took one and tasted it. Yeah. Disgusting.

"Sorry," Carol said.

She must have seen his face. He shrugged until he felt the dagger point of Sinclaire's stare.

"Ain't yer fault," he said. "Supposed to have milk ain't they?"

"Yes," Carol said in surprise. "They are. And we don't."

"Ah ya did the best ya could then."

He gave her a nod in response to her slack jawed amazement and went to sit down. Sinclaire gave him a smile. Tiff sat down on his other side and gave Sinclaire a long look. Merle did his best not to laugh when Sinclaire's smile turned into a full fledged grin of amusement.

"Merle," she said, making her voice husky. "I might...need you later."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yes."

"Ya know ya can count on me Yank."

"Thanks," she said. "Come find me when you want me."

She stood and attempted to sashay away. It didn't really work; Merle figured she wasn't used to moving that way...but it was funny to watch. And kinda sexy. She had a great body and a good face. He absently rated her a 6 out of 10. Probably 7 when she was clean and in clothes that didn't hide all the good parts of her. From the way Daryl was watching her he must have thought higher. Or maybe he was just desperate. He punched him in the shoulder.

"What the hell?"

"Yer gonna start droolin' in a second here. Ya had yer chance."

Daryl snarled wordlessly and got up.

Merle grinned. It was going to be a good day.

"So I've been thinking," Sinclaire said later as she threw kindling into the fire pit so they could boil water. "About that store."

"What about it?" Rick asked.

"We really need it. Bowhunter isn't having much luck with his off-season hunting and we're running out of supplies. Especially since it looks like we've got new people."

Rick followed her gaze to Glenn and Carrie.

"Do you think they're going to want to move in?" he asked.

"Either that or we risk losing Glenn. I like Glenn; he's level headed and brave and he can hot wire a car. Useful skills."

"You're right," Rick mused. "I wonder how the others will feel about that?"

"I don't know. I'm not loving it myself. But we can't tell them that they can't be together. They might get all Romeo and Juliet on us."

"What're ya talkin' about?" Daryl asked, dropping his own arm load of kindling.

"Adding three people to our group."

"They're stayin'?"

"I don't know. I'm just saying that we should examine the possibility."

Daryl knelt and began getting the fire started.

"I don't like it," he said. "Why can't they just stay in their own damn store? Have...whatcha call it? Conjugal visits."

"I think that's only for prison. If you're not in prison you just call it dating."

"God," Rick said suddenly. "Even dating seems weird now."

Daryl and Sinclaire weren't moved. It had been weird for both of them before.

"Anyway," she said after a moment. "I think we should try to secure that store."

"I've been thinking about that too," Rick said. "I think we might have to."

"Or find another one," Daryl pointed out as he stood up and looked down at the fire.

"That might turn out to be just a waste of gas," Sinclaire said when it had caught to everyone's satisfaction. "We don't know where to start. And this is a really small town. That might be the only one."

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Merle asked from behind them.

"The grocery store. I think we should go back and try to clean it out."

"The fuck for?"

"Food. It's crazy, but I like to eat."

"Ya said there was a lot of 'em."

"And I meant every word," Sinclaire assured him. "But...we'll run out of food if this keeps up. Rationing is one thing, but we've got the whole winter and the beginning of spring to get through."

"How would we do it?" Daryl asked.

"Are you volunteering? Sinclaire asked.

"If yer goin' so am I."

"And ya ain't leavin' me again," Merle said. "That was some underhanded shit Yank."

"I didn't think you'd notice," she said in surprise. "You and Tiffany were all cuddly."

"I ain't never cuddly!"

"So the four of us," Rick said, getting back to business. "It might not be enough, but we have to leave some people here to guard the bar."

"So we're leaving Shane, T, Nate-"

"Leaving me where?"

"Here," Daryl said shortly. "Or ya can go back to Grady's. Whatever ya wanna do."

"Where are you going?"

Sinclaire let Rick explain, since both the Dixon brothers seemed to hate it when she spoke to Nate.

"I'd rather go," he said. "With you I mean. Infiltration is what I do."

"That's a good point," Sinclaire pointed out, earning death glares from the Dixons. "Oh get over it! He's a Navy SEAL!"

"All right," Rick said, taking control again. "We need to figure out a way to do this as quietly as possible. Gunshots just draw more."

"Guns are all I've got," Sinclaire said. "I lost my big knife during the...unpleasantness on the road."

"Thought ya got it," Merle said.

"No. I was too busy thinking about the guns."

"Well, I still got the machete," Merle said. "What about ya'll?"

"I'm set," Daryl said.

"I don't have anything but a gun," Rick said.

"I've got three axes, six machetes, and a box full of knives," Nate said causally. "In the car."

Everyone went silent. Nate and Rick went to the car.

"Yeah, well..." Daryl muttered. "Still an asshole."

They joined Nate at the SUV and Sinclaire took the machete he handed her.

"Whatcha doin?" Glenn asked when he saw her twirl it experimentally.

"We're going to clean out the grocery store."

"Without inviting me?" Glenn looked hurt.

"You want to come with?"

"Sure."

"Glenn," Carrie said. "You might get hurt! Let Nate handle it; he's good at this stuff."

"So am I!" Glenn said indignantly.

"Then gear up and quit bitching," Sinclaire ordered.

He did. Rick glanced toward the bar.

"Guess I should go let Lori know," he said. "I'll be back."

Sinclaire jumped into the SUV and was prompted flanked by Dixons.

"Shouldn't you go tell your lady love that you're leaving?" she asked Merle.

"No. Ya done pissed her off Yank," he said with a grin. "She thinks ya want me."

Sinclaire batted her eyelashes and Merle laughed.

"Ya wanna piss her off or somethin'?" Hopes for a cat fight had never been higher.

"No, not exactly. I just think it's silly to get territorial. And also, I had you first."

"Can't argue that."

Daryl opened his mouth to say something but he stopped when they heard a shrill voice from the back porch of the bar.

"So you're just going to go? They don't even need you! What about Carl? What about-"

They didn't hear what Rick's answer to his enraged wife was, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Sinclaire was practically in Merle's lap and she could feel Daryl pressing against her back as they got as close to the window as they could.

"Fine!" Lori shouted. "At least I know Shane will take care of us!"

Everyone saw Rick's shoulders stiffen, but he only walked down the steps. Sinclaire and Daryl scrambled for their seats.

"Low fuckin' blow," Merle muttered. "Bitch."

"Thought ya hated Rick," Daryl answered.

Merle shrugged.

"But then again you hate everybody," Sinclaire said.

"Damn right. Hell, we movin' or ain't we?"

"Merle!"

"I'm afraid she's got you," Sinclaire said as Tiff came running down the steps.

Tiff hopped into the back of the SUV, crawling over Daryl, which made his face turn red, and stepping on Sinclaire's foot before sitting down in Merle's lap.

"You weren't even going to tell me?"

"Hell ya was all pissy. Didn't figure ya cared."

"Of course I care!"

"Fuck, it's gonna get mushy." Daryl muttered as he exited the SUV.

When Sinclaire stayed, he reached in and pulled her out too.

"Ya like makin' her uncomfortable and ya might as well admit it," he said.

Sinclaire shrugged and gave him a grin.

"Or maybe I'm just trying to get back into my own room," she said.

Daryl glanced into the car. Tiffany was kissing Merle so he glanced away again.

"Fat fuckin' chance."

"It doesn't look good for you either," she pointed out; Carrie and Glenn were sharing a passionate goodbye of their own a little way away from the SUV.

"Hell, I get to share the truck with you I'm doin' better than I was before."

Sinclaire looked down at her boots; she didn't know what to say. For the first time, she didn't want to go with her impulse to make a joke of a compliment.

"Uh...thanks."

"Yeah well..."

Clearly they were both great at this.

"Let's go," Rick said brusquely.

Sinclaire was so relieved that she contemplated hugging him for breaking up the awkward. And she hated hugging.

Tiff got out of the car, Sinclaire, Daryl, Rick, and Glenn got in. Nate cranked it up and they left.

"Off to kill some zombies," Glenn said. "Bringing home the bacon, taking out the trash, cleaning the-"

"We get it," Daryl said dryly.

"You're just jealous my eloquence. Trying to jack my swag."

"Tryin' to jack yer what?" Daryl asked in confusion.

"Look don't nobody need to be jackin' nothin' fer nobody else while I'm stuck in the car with 'em," Merle said.

"That's not what I meant!" Glenn protested.

"Consider your swag jacked," Sinclaire said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back. "Also, I can tell it's been a while since you've been out of the house."

"Cabin fever is serious disease," Nate agreed. "We need to make a plan."

"Well, we've been there before," Sinclaire said, indicating Rick, Nate, and herself. "There's only two entry points. Both of them are open-"

"Both?" Nate repeated. "You didn't close the front door?"

"Didn't have time. I say we go around back and close up that exit so they won't keep pouring in on us before we go in through the front."

"That's what I was going to suggest," Nate agreed. "We need to station one person near the front door to keep watch for more so we know when to leave."

"I'll do that," Glenn said. "Someone will volunteer me either way."

"Glenn on the doors, the rest of us throughout the store," Daryl said. "We oughta take sections so we don't accidentally kill each other."

"That's a good point," Sinclaire agreed. "We'll just have to start from the front and proceed in a linear fashion all the way through to the back. And hope nobody dies."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Glenn said. "We're all good at this."

Nate pulled around to the back of the store and they all looked out. About ten zombies milled around the back door. The store was filled with countless more. There were two doors to close, supplies to gather-

"We're all ready for this?" Rick asked.

"You have my sword," Sinclaire said with a grin as she held up the machete.

"And my bow," Daryl said obligingly.

"And my axe," Glenn chimed in, even though he was carrying a machete too.

Nate laughed and even Rick smiled.

"Yer all idiots," Merle informed them as he punched Sinclaire in the arm. "Now, lets get 'er done."

She gave him a thumbs up and slid out of the SUV behind him.


	35. Chapter 35

Sinclaire swung her machete up and through a zombie's chin to pierce its brain and listened to the 'whoosh' of a crossbow bolt from her left. Right in the eye. He had excellent aim. She wondered it he'd teach her. Rick, Nate, and Merle were working hard to clear the zombies headed toward them, while Glenn stuck close to Daryl, taking out anything that got too close while Daryl reloaded. They really were a good team. She swung again, burying her machete in the top of a shorter zombies head and then kicking it backward. It didn't take long to clear the area. Nate shoved the door shut.

"Could you tell how many there were?" Sinclaire asked as she brushed her hair back with her wrist so she didn't get zombie slime in her hair.

"No," Nate said. "But they were in there for sure. I could hear them."

"So, around front?" Glenn asked.

Nate pulled the SUV around but the others walked. Sinclaire saw Daryl pulling bolts out of the zombie skulls and shaking the muck off of them as best he could. She'd wondered how he never ran out.

"That wasn't so bad," Merle said.

"I know. I have a bad feeling about it."

"The hell for?" he asked Sinclaire.

"Too easy is never good. It's like they're waiting."

"That's bullshit. Yer thinkin' like a human."

"Silly me."

"Well, they don't. So ya can't."

"Damn."

"What?"

"It's a good point, that's what. Fine. You're right."

"Say it again."

"No. You're conceited enough as it is."

"Ready to go in?" Rick asked.

Sinclaire shook off the bad feeling and nodded. Damn Merle for being right, but he was. It wasn't like zombies could organize an ambush. They got in and got the door closed. Glenn stationed himself near it, looking out.

"I'll stay here," Daryl said. "Watch yer back."

"Thanks," Glenn said in relief. "I was wondering how I was going to watch, and watch, you know?"

"Yeah." Daryl cocked the bow and looked at Sinclaire. "Take care of yerself Yank."

"You too Bowhunter."

"Ya ain't worried 'bout me?" Merle asked Daryl. "Ungrateful ass-"

Daryl aimed and shot and a zombie dropped behind Merle.

"Get that fer me will ya?" he asked, nodding at the bolt. "And then go do somethin' 'stead of standin' around bitchin'."

Merle laughed and tossed the bolt back to Daryl.

"Let's go," Nate said impatiently.

They started off, working their way aisle by aisle through the store. It actually wasn't that bad. Most of the herd that had poured in while Rick and Sinclaire were there seemed to have passed on through. There were a few random ones bumbling around, but less than twenty total.

"Fuckin' let down is what it is," Merle said as they tossed the bodies out the back door. "I was all ready for a challenge."

They closed the door securely and Sinclaire zip tied it on the inside with one of the ties she'd brought.

"I say we loot the fuck out of the place," she said. "Everything we can think of that we'll need. It's a waste of gas to drive back here and if you didn't leave the back door open, and we didn't leave the backdoor open, there's someone else around here. Someone human. And, whoever they are, they're a moron."

Nate nodded and the spent the next hour or so loading up carts and bags and the boxes Rick found in the back. Sinclaire was shocked to see Rick loading up a cart with baby things.

"Ya didn't know?" Merle asked when Rick went out.

"No! What the...when?"

"Fer a while now," Merle said. "Sometimes I swear ya think just like a man."

"Bite me."

"Where at?"

Eventually the shelves were picked clean and the SUV was packed full so Sinclaire zip tied the front door closed and they left. They rode in silence, everyone nearly crushed under the weight of the food they'd brought out. Sinclaire was annoyed. She'd wanted to stop by the library, but there wasn't a spare square inch in the car for a book. Daryl looked annoyed too, but that might have been because Nate took a curve a little fast and sent a box of cans tumbling onto his head. Sinclaire and Merle were the only ones who managed to duck the onslaught, but Daryl was the only one who took it personally.

"Behold!" Sinclaire called when they arrived back at the bar. "We bring food. Massive, painful amounts of food."

Everyone clustered around, looking into the SUV in amazement.

"Hell don't just stand there," Merle barked. "Take it inside. Then cook. I have to tell ya everything?"

There was a generalized eye roll, but hands reached in and grabbed boxes and bags. Sinclaire leaned against the side of the car and watched.

"What?" she said in response to Merle's raised eyebrow. "If you bring home the bacon you don't have to cook it right?"

"Sounds good to me."

Daryl swung his bow up and walked off.

"Where ya goin' baby brother?"

"Huntin'."

"Ya ain't had no luck-"

"Stuff it."

Sinclaire decided that a bath was a good idea. Nothing like killing zombies to make a girl want some freshening up. She warned the others and boiled some water. She was splashing water over her back when she heard footsteps.

"Bathing!" she shouted.

"How 'bout if I promise not to look? It's cold out here!"

"Fine," she said, recognizing Daryl's voice. Hell, he'd seen it before anyway.

The back door opened and he walked in.

"Is that a turkey?" she asked in surprise.

"Yep," Daryl answered, facing studiously away. "I got lucky."

"Sure did. It's huge!"

"I'd say it's not the first time I've heard that...but ya'd know I was lyin'."

She snorted without meaning to. She thought he laughed too, but it was hard to tell since he was still facing away. He went in and she heard general exclamations of joy from the bar. Sinclaire got out of the tub and dressed quickly.

"So?" she asked the room at large. "What do you think? I know I grabbed some cranberry sauce...what if we made tomorrow Thanksgiving?"

"Fuck yeah," Merle said, thumping her on the back. "Yer always full of good ideas Yank."

"Okay, yeah," Daryl said. "But I shot the turkey."

"It can't be Thanksgiving," Andrea said.

"Why not?" Carl asked.

"It's too late. It already was."

"Oh."

Everyone was momentarily silenced. Glenn coughed the word 'buzzkill.' Andrea shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think about it at the time." She defended herself.

"How far past it are we?" Shane asked.

"According to my calendar its December 5th."

"So...how about a big Sunday dinner?" Sinclaire asked. "Isn't that something rednecks do?" she continued with a smile and a poke on Merle's shoulder.

"It's Tuesday," Andrea said.

"Christ on a crutch!" Merle yelled. "Ya got somethin' against turkey?"

"No! I'm all for the turkey," she said. "I say lets eat."

"It'll have to be tomorrow," Carol said. "If we brine the turkey it won't be so dry when we roast it," she explained hurriedly when Merle turned his gaze to her.

"And we gotta pluck it and all that," Daryl said.

Everyone suddenly found something else to do.

"Oh. I guess that's me then," he muttered. "Fine."

He got a jacket and went back out. Sinclaire headed for the room she shared with Merle.

"Where are you going?" Tiff asked her.

"To get my book," Sinclaire said, her tone daring her to continue. She'd actually been planning to get her things together and take them to the truck, but not with that attitude.

"Whatcha up to?" Merle asked a few moments later as she turned the small room upside down.

"Where the hell is my book?"

"I wasn't exactly payin' attention to yer book last night," Merle said. "Think I saw it go flyin' when ya threw my jacket though."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Yer welcome. Ya ain't gonna stick around and read?"

"No. I thought I'd get some fresh air."

"Ya comin' back tonight?"

"No. I thought I'd sleep in the truck again."

Merle didn't know what to say. Was Sinclaire hoping to get it on with Daryl? Or was she mad at him because of Tiff? Was she hoping to punish him by making him shack up with another woman?

"Well," he said, opting for a classic. "Fuck you too then."

Sinclaire considered throwing her book again—this time at his head—but she left her better nature prevail.

"Don't worry Merle," she said. "Maybe I'll invite you for a sleepover one night."


	36. Chapter 36

"So I noticed something in the store," Glenn was saying to Daryl when Sinclaire came out of the bar.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked as he started the fire again. "M'I the only one who can keep this shit lit?"

"You're a poet. You don't know it," Sinclaire said.

Glenn laughed; Daryl shook his head with a half grin and walked down to the river for a bucket of water.

"So what'd you notice?" she asked.

"How slow the ones outside were moving. I mean, I know they've never been fast...but those practically stood there and let us kill them. When you compare that to the ones inside..."

"I see what you mean. You think there's a correlation between temperature and bodily function."

"Exactly! I mean, we have it. And they're human. At least they were. Why wouldn't it be the same?"

"Think it'd be worse," Daryl said, pouring the bucket of water into the pot over the fire. "I'm wonderin' about their blood."

"What about their blood?" Sinclaire asked.

"Whether it still..." Daryl gestured, as if he could pull the correct word from the air. "Circulates," he finished triumphantly. "If it didn't they'd be like snakes."

"Snakes circulate blood," Glenn pointed out.

"I know that," Daryl said impatiently. "I mean how snakes and other cold blooded stuff move slower in the winter. People ain't as bad 'cause we're warm blooded...but what if they ain't no more?"

"What are ya'll yakkin' about?" Merle asked.

"Cold blooded-ness," Sinclaire said. "What do you think? Did the Walkers outside seem slower than the ones in the store?"

Merle rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then grunted in the affirmative. "Yeah. That's good thinkin' Yank."

"Hey!" Glenn protested.

"I'm not going to take your credit," Sinclaire reassured him. "Everyone will have a chance to impress Merle."

"I'm not trying to impress Merle," Glenn said frostily. "This is for science."

"Science!" Sinclaire said obligingly.

"Ya think their blood circulates?" Daryl asked Merle.

"Who cares?" Merle asked practically.

"If it doesn't they'd freeze," Sinclaire pointed out.

"Ain't gonna get freezin' cold around here," Merle said. "But we could find out about the blood. Whatcha say Yank? Wanna go in the mornin'?"

"You want to go zombie hunting with me?" Sinclaire placed both hands over her heart. "Merle Dixon I'd be honored."

Merle swung his arm over her shoulders and gave her a grin. "Just like old times. Dixon and Lewis against the world."

"Hell yeah." Sinclaire fist bumped him and then shrugged out from under his arm. "Should we plan to get an early start?"

"If ya'll wanna be back by dinner then ya better," Daryl said as he picked up the turkey and dunked it headfirst into the boiling water.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Makes it easier to pluck," Merle said as if it should have been obvious.

"If ya know why don't ya ever do it?" Daryl demanded.

"That's what we got ya around for," Merle explained.

"Wet feathers stink," Sinclaire said in surprise.

Daryl nodded and sat down on one of the logs by the fire. He grabbed a handful of feathers and yanked. Everyone watched until he turned slowly and gave them all an annoyed look.

"Ya'll wanna do this?" he asked.

"No," Glenn answered.

"Then beat it. Don't need a damn audience."

"Daryl's got a thing about people standin' behind him while he's workin'," Merle said.

"If ya know then why the fuck are ya doin' it?" Daryl asked.

"You don't know Merle very well do you?" Sinclaire asked with a laugh.

Daryl started to stand up.

"No, no! I'm going," she said as she made a hasty retreat. She took her book to the box truck and climbed in.

"Whatcha readin'?" Merle asked.

"Iron House."

"Any good?"

"No, it sucks. That's why I'm halfway through it."

"Don't get smart."

"But I don't know how to get dumb."

"Read it to me."

"From the middle?"

"Ain't as bright as ya think are ya?"

Sinclaire sighed and flipped to the beginning. When it got too dark to read she looked over and saw that Daryl was just finishing with the turkey. She gave him a thumbs up. He nodded and took the turkey inside for Carol to brine. She turned to Merle and saw that he was asleep. On top of her sleeping bag. Well that was lovely.

She stretched out on Daryl's sleeping bag and sighed. She'd get up and wake Merle up in a second. It was just so peaceful with the fire crackling and the story in her head.

Daryl came back from the bar and found Merle where Sinclaire should have been and Sinclaire where he should have been. Tiff had been in Merle's room. Carrie and Glenn were in his room.

Daryl sighed. At least he knew Merle wasn't gonna be getting laid tonight either. With a shrug he crawled into the back of the truck between his brother and Sinclaire and slid the truck door closed.

"Goodnight," he muttered.

Sinclaire woke up feeling very warm and comfortable. She stretched and her hand banged into someone's arm over her side. She went tense and forced herself to take a deep breath. She recognized the arm. There was a tattoo on it. It was Daryl. She could feel his chest against her back. She let the breath out. This had never happened before. She had nothing to compare it to. It was...a little bit nice. And claustrophobic. But mostly...okay.

His arm tightened around her and she heard him mutter low in his throat. His beard was prickly against her hair. That was a new sensation too. Mike had been clean shaven. That was the first time she'd thought about him in a long time. Suddenly the claustrophobia rushed back. She pushed Daryl's arm off and sat up. He rubbed his face and sat up too.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay. I was...you're really warm."

"Thanks. I guess."

"Why are ya'll talkin'?" Merle grumbled. "It's too damn early for talkin'."

"We've got that zombie hunt," Sinclaire pointed out. "I was going to wake you up anyway."

Merle nodded and sat up. He was in the middle of a yawn when he caught the look from his little brother. It plainly said, "_Get the fuck out of this truck_." Merle grinned.

"Gotta pee," he announced.

"I can't tell you how much it means to me that you share these details," Sinclaire said.

Merle exited the vehicle and closed the door again. In Sinclaire's face.

"Well." she said, sitting back down. "It wasn't like I was going to watch. Not that I think Merle would mind that."

"Yeah."

Daryl kissed her. It wasn't the most intimate kiss in the world. Neither one of them even parted their lips. She was too shocked to close her eyes so she could see that his were scrunched shut. She could also feel that he was braced to get hit.

Even if that was what she'd been inclined to do she wouldn't have had time. He pulled back almost as quickly as he'd leaned in and looked at her. Much to her disbelief she found herself blushing. She raised her hands to her cheeks and rubbed her face emphatically. He rubbed his chin self consciously.

"Is it the beard?" he asked. "I mean is it scratchy? Or did ya just not wanna do that? Did I-"

"It's not the beard," she cut in. He looked hurt. "I mean it's not that I didn't want...I mean I wasn't thinking about it...but I don't...think...that I mind. But I'm not sure. I have to...I need to think."

"Okay. Well I'll..." his voice trailed off as she yanked open the truck door and bolted down to the river. "Be here."

A note: Sinclaire/Merle fans be not alarmed. That is all I will say. Oh and this: I can't thank my review-ers enough. It's the reviews that inspire me to write and I love them (and you guys) so much! I'm glad you're enjoying the story and I hope you continue to do so!


	37. Chapter 37

Merle looked at Sinclaire when she slid out of the box truck, but he could tell by the way she moved as she went up the steps and into the bar that she wasn't in the mood for a chat. He started to go after her anyway, but the truck door was yanked open again before he'd taken more than two steps.

Daryl looked pissed off. That would probably be more interesting. At the very least it should be more entertaining. Merle sauntered after Daryl as he walked into the woods.

"Can't a person piss in peace?" Daryl asked when Merle's shadow fell over him.

"Not if that person's you," Merle answered. "What'd ya do to her?"

"Nothin'."

"Liar."

Daryl sighed and zipped his jeans.

"I kissed her."

"I don't think ya did it right. She looked pretty mad. Women ain't supposed to look like that after ya kiss 'em. What'd ya do?"

"I ain't talkin' about this with ya," Daryl said firmly.

"Sure ya are. She's my friend. Yer my brother. And I don't want word goin' around that the Dixon's don't know how to handle a woman."

"I don't think—"

"I'd believe it."

"That it's got anything to do with ya," Daryl finished doggedly. "Ya already told her I was a virgin. Then ya told her I was gay-"

"I never said ya _was _gay. I said I was _worried_ ya were gay."

"How the fuck is that different?"

"Just is. Trust me. Now. Fuckin' tell me what ya fuckin' did!"

"I did tell ya! I. Kissed. Her."

Daryl's jaw was clenched so tight that Merle was amazed any words could get through at all. He studied his brother for a long moment. Daryl shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Ya have kissed a girl before haven't ya?"

"Yes."

"Any of 'em slam a truck door in yer face?"

"Susie Richards."

"So at least yer used to it. Point is, yer doin' it wrong."

"Oh fuck you." Daryl started to walk away.

"Get yer ass back here," Merle snapped. "Ya wanna kiss her again or was that close enough to fuckin' for ya?"

For a long moment Daryl didn't say anything. Merle waited patiently.

"I want to kiss her again," he admitted finally. "But it don't look good fer me."

"I'll talk to her."

"What are ya gonna say?" Daryl asked suspiciously.

"Ain't decided yet," Merle said with a grin. "I reckon I'll have to wait and see."

"Merle!" Daryl called after him. "Get yer ass back here and tell me what yer gonna say!"

Merle kept walking. He didn't want Daryl to see the grin on his face.

Sinclaire looked around the bar for someone to talk to and came up with nothing. Everyone looked busy. Even if they hadn't looked busy, they didn't look like people she wanted to talk with about her fucked up love life anyway. And she wasn't even sure that one kiss qualified the term "love life." Merle walked in. Merle! Maybe she could talk to... He gave her a knowing grin and she sighed. Damn it, Daryl had already told him. Suddenly talking to Merle didn't seem like it would be a good idea.

"Ready to go zombie huntin' Yank?" he asked.

"No. How about we-"

"Where were you last night?" Tiffany asked suddenly.

The tone of her voice stopped all the extraneous chatter in the room. Merle shrugged unconcernedly.

"Slept in the truck," he said. "What's yer problem? Ya got a room all to yerself."

"I was worried about you! And now you're telling me that you spent the night with her!" she flung her arm out at Sinclaire.

"And his brother," Sinclaire pointed out dryly.

"I'm not talking to you!" Tiff answered haughtily. "This is between me and Merle!"

"Seems like it's between us and the whole damn bar," Merle snapped. "I'll talk to ya when I fuckin' feel like it, how 'bout that? I don't owe ya a goddamn thing."

"This is all your fault!" Tiff said, turning back to Sinclaire.

Sinclaire was not in the mood. She stood up, her bar stool scraping back over the wood floor loudly.

"One more word and I will juice you like an orange," she said flatly. She knew her voice carried to all corners of the bar, but she wasn't shrieking like Tiff had been.

Tiff opened her mouth, but the look on Sinclaire's face shut her up. She turned back to Merle instead. He was laughing, so she flounced out of the bar.

"If you keep that up you aren't going to get lucky again," Sinclaire said as they walked into the woods a bit later on for their zombie hunt. Merle had let her finish her breakfast in silence, but he'd forced her out of the bar as soon as she was done.

"Hell, I can fuck her whenever I damn well please," Merle said. "That's the kinda woman she is."

"Then why'd you sleep with her in the first place?"

"I like sex. She's willin' to give it up; I'm sure as fuck willin' to take it."

"Noble."

"If noble's what keeps ya from fuckin' then my brother must be a damn king."

She sighed. "Here it comes. Go ahead."

"What'd he do to ya?" Merle asked, determined to have the question answered.

"He kissed me. I know he told you."

"Yeah. But he didn't say how he did it. Ya must not have liked it."

"How do you know I didn't like it?"

"'Cause yer out here with me 'stead of in that truck underneath him."

"It takes more than one kiss to get me on my back, Merle."

"Not if he'd have done it right. How many kisses ya think I hadda give Tiff?"

"None. She was throwing herself at you. That's different."

"Can't nobody accuse ya of bein' over eager," Merle admitted. "Neither of ya. Tell me 'bout the damn kiss."

"He...it was just a kiss. Normal I guess. His...uh...lips...on mine."

"Tongue?"

"Oh for...Merle come on! Let's not do this okay?"

"No tongue. Damn it what the fuck's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong with him. He knows I hate to be touched that's all. Hey, is that a zombie?"

"No," Merle said after a quick glance. "Quit distractin' me. Ya gonna kiss him again? Even though he don't know what the fuck he's doin'?"

"I don't know."

"He'll get better at it. He's a Dixon. We're damn good at everything we do."

"So you're a good kisser?"

"Hell yeah."

"How do you know?"

"Never had no complaints."

"I didn't complain to Daryl," she pointed out.

"Hey! Ya insinuatin' somethin'?"

"Just an observation."

"Want me to prove it?"

"No. I don't think I want to watch you kiss Tiffany."

"Hell, I meant I'd kiss ya. Then ya could compare us and see that ya picked the wrong one."

"I am not kissing you less than an hour after I kissed your brother. It's all too Jerry Springer. Anyway, I didn't not pick you. You crawled into bed—sleeping bag—with Tiff."

"I got needs. And ya always turned me down. I offered to let ya blow me I don't know how many times." He faked a hurt look.

"This conversation is getting into a weird area," Sinclaire said. "Where are all the zombies?"

"Don't know," Merle said, letting the conversation rest. For now.

They walked along silently for awhile, and then, to get her off her guard, Merle said, "That "juice ya like an orange" thing ya said was funny as hell. Where'd ya hear that?"

"It's my own invention," Sinclaire said in relief. At least this wasn't about Daryl. "As far as I know anyway. I've never heard anyone say it before."

"Me neither."

"What do you say in moments like that?"

"I stick with imma kick yer ass. Sometimes I say that I'll stomp a mudhole in ya the size of Texas."

Sinclaire laughed. "I like that. I might use it sometimes. You can use the orange thing."

"I don't know. Sounds better in a Yankee accent."

She punched his shoulder.

"I can't believe we're workin' this hard to find a zombie," Merle grumbled. "Ain't we supposed to be trippin' over 'em?"

"More proof that Glenn's right. The cold makes it harder for them."

"So we all oughta move to Alaska," Merle muttered. "Wouldn't have a damn thing to worry about. Ya'd keep me warm right Yank?"

Sinclaire remembered the warmth of Daryl's body against hers and shivered.

"Cold?" Merle asked.

"Always," she answered wryly. "I'm not sure Alaska is for me whether I have you to keep me warm or not."

"Hey," Merle grabbed her arm and stopped her. "Look."

"There's more than one."

"I got eyes."

"What should we do?"

Merle whistled. Sinclaire punched him. The zombies, about ten in all, turned slowly their way. Their shambling walk wasn't much faster than a gentle stroll, even though their hands reached eagerly forward and saliva dripped from their open mouths.

"A fuckload slower than they was," Merle commented as he raised his gun.

"Thank God. I swear sometimes I think you're insane. Try to leave one of them alive."

"Okay, how 'bout the one at the back? In the camo?"

"Sounds good."

It was pretty easy to put the zombies down. Sinclaire's head shots had improved and Merle had always been good.

"Now, what're we gonna do with him?" Merle asked as the last remaining zombie shambled closer.

"I brought rope." Sinclaire dug around in her jacket pocket and yanked out a tight coil. "We need to get it tied up so we can make some cuts."

"The fuck ya gonna do? Lasso it?"

"Yes. Annie Oakley at your service," Sinclaire said with a tip of her imaginary hat. "Obviously not. I'm going to distract it; you're going to get the rope around its arms."

"Oh I am?"

"Sure."

She stepped sideways once the zombie's clouded eyes fixed on her. It followed. She smiled when Merle's rope dropped around it. The rope tightened until the zombies arms were pinned at its sides. It growled and tried to turn as it snapped its teeth at Merle.

"This thing stinks," he said. "Next time yer on rope duty."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time. And why do you think you ended up on rope duty this time? Is the rope tight?"

"Yeah."

"Then let it go."

Merle did as she said and stepped to the side. Sinclaire swept the zombie's legs out from underneath it and it fell onto its back.

"I think it's mad at ya," Merle said when it snarled and snapped at the air near her leg.

"It's not going to learn to like me better in the next five minutes," Sinclaire muttered as she knelt beside it.

"Ya look kinda funny," Merle said after a moment.

"I'm having biology class flashbacks," she admitted. "I was never really good at this. I don't mind watching...it's just the feeling you know?"

He sighed and pulled out his knife. He knelt and pushed the blade into the zombie's neck. A thick sludge of black, congealed blood slipped down from the wound.

"There ya go," Merle said, yanking the knife out. "Shoulda been a fuckin' fountain of blood."

"You're sure you hit the carotid?" she asked.

"Fuck yeah I'm sure."

The zombie snapped at his fingers as he pointed indignantly.

"And fuck ya too," he said, plunging the knife down through the top of its head.

"So we learned something today," Sinclaire said. "Zombie blood is gross."

"Hell we already knew that." Merle wiped the knife off in the short, dry grass. "Next time the chink can do his own science experiments."

Sinclaire sighed.

"He knows that's what I call him. We got whatcha call an understandin'."

"Whatever. I've got what you call hunger pains. Do you think the turkey's done?"

"We been gone for awhile. Oughta be. Hope they let Carol cook it."

"Why Carol?"

"She looks like she knows more about cookin'. I don't trust Lori and Andrea's a fuckin' feminist. Everybody knows they can't cook worth a shit."

"What about me?"

"Ya ain't a feminist."

"Would you eat my cooking though?"

Merle gave her a silent appraisal and then said, "Nah."

"Why not?"

"Ya don't look like the type to cook. Ready to head back?"

"No. I'm insulted. I might be a damn good cook."

"When ya've got a mind to try it ya let me know."

"So you can run?" she questioned darkly.

"I don't see why yer so mad about it. Daryl still wants to get in yer pants whether ya can cook or not. Where ya at on that by the way?"

Sinclaire stared at him, amazed that he's brought the conversation back around exactly where he wanted it.

"Are you really that eager to get rid of me?"

"No. If yer with Daryl yer where I know yer safe. I can't watch ya all the time."

"I don't know what to do with that," she admitted.

Merle grinned.

"I mean what you just said! Not...the other thing."

"Sure Yank."

She stood up and began walking back to camp.

"Get the rope," she snapped over her shoulder.

He gave her a salute and began untying the zombie.


	38. Chapter 38

**A Note From Me: The guy's name should have been Mick, not Mike...LibreOffice auto correct got me. Sigh. So later when I talk about Mick, that's who it is! On another note: Brazen Hussy...I love you and I'm not just saying that so that I get a percent of the t-shirt sales. MSJ2779, your review for chapter 36 made me laugh so hard (and so unexpectedly) that water came out my nose, but that comment about Tiff was worth it. And finally, Limaro, feelin' fickle? Tee hee (and don't think polygamy hasn't occurred to me) And to the rest of you: reviews make me happy and thank you for all of them!**

"So ya gonna talk to my brother or ain't ya?" Merle asked when the bar was in sight.

Sinclaire had calmed down over the long walk back so he figured he was safe from a sudden kidney punch.

"No," she said. "I'm going to talk to Tiff."

"What the hell for?" Merle asked in genuine surprise.

"I shouldn't have threatened to juice her like an orange. She probably really likes you and-"

"Sure she really likes me," Merle cut in. "Can't blame her. But ya ain't gotta worry about her. I'm tellin' ya she's the kinda woman that does shit like this. I'll walk back over there and she'll tell me she was worried and I'll be fuckin' her again before tomorrow mornin'."

"Why are you attracted to her then?"

"Who said I was?"

"You're sleeping with her! Don't you tend to sleep with people you're attracted to?"

"Well yeah. I mean, I don't think she's ugly or nothin'. It's mostly the fact that she threw herself at me and everybody else is shackin' up with somebody."

"I'm not."

"Ya punch me when I get too close."

"Carol's not."

"Ya threatened me about her. Remember?"

Sinclaire thought back. "Oh. It seems that I did."

"Who else is there? Lori's got her hands full, Andrea's with the old man, Carrie's with the chi—Glenn...I'm down to one hand as it is an it gets tired."

"Ew!"

"Ah don't try to tell me ya don't do it."

She cleared her throat and looked out over the woods.

"Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me?"

"I am done talking about sex with you Merle Dixon!"

"All right fine. But it'd explain why yer so fuckin' pissy lately."

As predicted, Tiffany accosted Merle the minute they were in sight. Sinclaire wandered over to the fire to warm up.

"Yank's got somethin' to say to ya," Merle said after he untangled himself from her arms and her apologies.

"I don't have anything to say to her!" Tiff said. "You heard what she said this morning!"

"Yeah," Merle said with a reminiscent grin. "Funny as hell. And anyway, ya keep yellin' at her and I'm gonna say worse than that. She's my friend. She helped me get outta Atlanta. Yer gonna start treatin' her better than that."

With that, he pushed her toward Sinclaire and said, "Yank! Yer up!"

Tiffany stood with her arms crossed and her face stoney in response to Sinclaire's smile, so Sinclaire dropped the friendly look.

"I thought we got along," she said bluntly. "When we first met. Didn't we?"

Tiff shrugged.

"Okay, here it is. If I wanted to sleep with Merle I'm actually positive that I could." Tiff opened her mouth but Sinclaire went on. "But guess what? I didn't sleep with him when it was just the two of us on the road for a month. I didn't sleep with him when we found the bar and I sure as hell didn't sleep with him last night with his brother two feet away from us. Merle's my best friend and I wouldn't ever-" The words she'd planned caught in her throat. She cleared it and went determinedly on. "Sleep with him."

"He likes you better than he likes me," Tiffany said, a little sadly.

"I don't yell at him all the time. Or at least, not the way you do. Merle's not the kind of man you can...no. That's too much. I am not giving you relationship advice. The point is that I don't hate you and I'm sorry that I said I'd juice you like an orange. But if you accuse me of sleeping with Merle one more time, I will stomp a mud hole in you."

"Okay," Tiffany said. "So..."

"Truce?" Sinclaire held her hand out and after a moment Tiff shook it. "Very nice. Now let's eat."

They all trooped into the bar for their non-Thanksgiving/non-Sunday dinner. Daryl caught her eye once his plate was full and she gave him a smile as she gestured for him to come sit beside her on the floor. There weren't enough chairs when everyone was in the room at once. He sat.

"The turkey's good," she said after a moment of silent chewing.

Daryl nodded. The chatter of the group filled the room again as everyone began to eat. Sinclaire scooped up a bite of canned cranberry sauce. Daryl looked at his with distaste.

"What's wrong?"

"Shit looks like dog food," Daryl answered. "I only took it 'cause she gave it to me."

"Fork it over," Sinclaire said and then laughed at her own pun. "But seriously. Cranberry sauce. Now. And you can have my green beans."

"Ya don't like 'em?"

"They are icky."

"Ain't neither." Daryl took one off of her plate and popped it into his mouth. "Taste fine to me."

"How cultured can your palate really be bowhunter? You don't like cranberry sauce."

"If I wanted dog food I'd've picked up some Alpo at the store."

"I'm sensing that you haven't even tasted cranberry sauce. Can it be so?"

"It looks like dog food!"

"Close your eyes."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Why?"

"So I can kill you and take your money obviously. I'm headed to Vegas. Come on. Play along."

Daryl closed his eyes when he saw the sparkle in hers. She forked up a moderate helping of cranberry sauce and said, "Open your mouth."

"No," he mumbled. "I know what yer gonna do."

"For all you know, I found some pecan pie. Live a little why don't you?"

He parted his lips for a fraction of a second. Luckily, Sinclaire had quick reflexes. Daryl made a face as he opened his eyes.

"It's slimy."

"It's slippery with deliciousness," Sinclaire corrected. "Chew it."

"Ya have to chew it?"

"Well, you know...like Jell-o. Squish it against the roof of your mouth with your tongue."

"What the hell ya'll into over here?" Merle asked. "Sounds dirty."

"Thick, juicy, cranberry sauce," Sinclaire answered in a breathy voice.

"Ya got him to eat cranberry sauce? I been tryin' fer years."

"I don't think holding it in his mouth and looking horrified counts as eating," she said. "But it's a start."

"Hell, baby brother! It's good fer ya!" Merle smacked Daryl in the back and he swallowed accidentally.

"Damn it Merle!"

Sinclaire laughed and Daryl gave her a squinty look.

"Ya just wait," he said.

"What are you going to do? Force feed me green beans?"

His eyes lit up.

"No. No. It was a joke! Listen I'm sorry that I made you experience the wonder that is cranberry sauce, but I-"

Daryl had quick reflexes too. When her lips parted on the "I" he pushed a green bean between them. She bit down accidentally.

"Okay, that's not fair," she muttered, trying not to swallow.

He smacked her on the back and gave her a grin when she swallowed.

"Sure it is."

They finished the meal together, Daryl and Sinclaire sitting in the kitchen floor across from Tiff and Merle. It was a little awkward, but not too bad. Tiff wasn't sending death glares Sinclaire's way and Merle didn't call Daryl's sexuality into question even once. All in all, a good dinner.


	39. Chapter 39

A Note: I swear plot is going to happen in the next chapter…but you know…life. Life is in the way of my fanfiction. Why can't they pay me to write this stuff?

Sinclaire sportingly offered to help clean up, but Carol practically shoved her outside.

"You do enough keeping us all safe," she said. "You don't have to help with the chores too."

Sinclaire probably should have argued the point but she didn't. It probably wasn't for her own good anyway. The last time she'd done dishes she'd chipped two plates. Carol was probably just doing preventative maintenance.

She stepped out onto the back porch steps and looked around. The wind blew and she shivered. Most people had the good sense to stay inside…but not bowhunter. He was standing at the edge of the drop off, looking down toward the million dollar houses Merle was always talking about.

"What's with you guys and those houses?" Sinclaire asked when she walked up.

"Look," he answered as he pointed down. "There's smoke."

Sinclaire leaned forward in surprise. She felt him grab the back of her jacket.

"Relax," she said with a laugh. "This isn't kamikaze recon."

"Just makin' sure."

He didn't let go when she straightened and faced him.

"So what do you think it—" she started.

He ducked his head and kissed her again. This time was different. It wasn't rushed and after the first startled moment she felt her lips part under his. She supposed she should be floating in some dream-like state, the way it looked in the movies, but instead she was hyper-aware of everything that was happening. His hands moved from the back of her jacket to her hips and left all the skin in between tingling as though her many layers had disappeared.

He didn't pull back as quickly this time either; instead he withdrew slowly, leaving her breathless with several small kisses to follow the first one.

"I think there's another group down there," he said casually.

"Down where?"

She was glad the light was fading when she felt herself blush. He gave her a short smile and gestured at the million dollar houses. She cleared her throat and pushed herself away from him.

"Right. Do you think they know we're here?"

His smile faded into a worried frown.

"Hope not. Barely can feed the people we got."

"Maybe they'd have food."

"Or maybe they'd be crazy as fuck. Ya know some people have lost their shit by now."

Sinclaire remembered Metz.

"Yeah, I guess that's true. We should tell the others. So they know what to expect."

He glanced at the bar.

"Pretty dark in there now. We could always tell 'em in the mornin'."

"I guess so." Sinclaire looked down into the gated community. "Think they're safer than we are up here?"

"Nah," he said with the first sign of confidence she'd seen. "They ain't got me."

"I suppose that's true," she agreed.

They walked back to the truck and he slid the back door open for her. She crawled in and then cursed.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he followed her in.

"I meant to get the air mattresses and put them in here. Tiff distracted me."

"Ya'll seemed okay at dinner though."

"I apologized," Sinclaire admitted.

"No shit?"

"None. Well…I apologized for the "juice you like an orange" part. I left the rest to her imagination."

"Yer a good person," he said and she could hear a smile in his voice.

"This thing," she said bluntly. "The kisses…."

"Yeah?"

Now he sounded wary.

"I don't think I'm ready to have sex with you," she blurted out.

"Kinda used to hearin' that."

"But…I think that maybe I could if you gave me enough time."

"Really?"

It was too dark to see him, but he sounded shocked.

"So far you're the only man who's been able to kiss me without bringing up unpleasant memories. I'm thinking maybe you could…you know…do the rest too."

"I'd be happy to help," he said, making her laugh a little.

"I don't know how happy you might end up being. It might take a while. And…it would just be sex. I don't think I'm right for a relationship."

"Why not?"

"You're not going to get answers out of me that easily."

"Well, I only got one more question. Why not Merle? Ya'll get along better'n I've ever seen anybody get along with him."

Sinclaire lay back and stared blindly up at the roof of the truck.

"You really think he'd wait for me to get used to being touched?" she asked lightly.

"No."

"Exactly."

"So…ya want me to let ya make all the moves?" he asked awkwardly.

"No, not…exactly. I was thinking you can make the moves you want to make and stop when I start freaking out."

"I'd rather stop before ya freak out. Ya hit people when ya get stressed. And ya hit hard."

Sinclaire laughed and said, "Okay then. We should have a safe word."

"A safe word?" he repeated. "Like those people that get off on tyin' each other up?"

"Just like that. Except that if you tie me up you'd better make a clean getaway."

"So whatcha want?"

"Pineapple?" she suggested, feeling a little silly with relief at how well this was going.

"Pineapple?" he repeated. "Works as good as anything else I reckon."


	40. Chapter 40

"You're going to hurt yourself," Sinclaire said in alarm.

"I don't see you offerin' to help me," Merle pointed out.

"I'm afraid that _I _would hurt yourself. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Got a better one?"

"Look, just because you saw a guy shave like that in some low budget horror flick—"

"Pitch Black ain't low budget."

"Merle."

"Well, the point is, I can't see why it wouldn't work."

"For one thing I'm not sure you put enough grease on there. For another…well, I'm not slighting you, but Vin Diesel wasn't shaving left handed."

Merle pointed the knife at her and said, "Proves ya watched it. Now, ya gonna bitch or ya gonna help?"

She sighed and took the knife.

"I guess your skull is thick enough to avoid any real damage," she admitted.

"There ya go. Anyway, I got the idea from T-dog."

When she braced her hand on his head the first time it slipped off.

"Ew."

"Buck up Yank."

Sinclaire took a deep breath and a firmer grip on Merle's head and dragged the blade of the knife over his skull.

"Wonders never cease," she muttered.

"Told ya so."

"I have a knife in one hand and your head in the other. Are you sure this is the opportune moment?"

"Reckon not. So tell me, it's been a week since ya'll started shackin' up...managed to bang my little brother yet?"

"Knife and head," Sinclaire reminded him.

"Whatever turns ya on," he said with a grin.

"Fuck you Merle Dixon."

"Sounds like ya need somebody to do the job."

She leaned over and raised an eyebrow.

"When you're so happy with Tiff?"

"Who says we ain't happy?"

"I don't know. This bar has gotten a lot more redneck since the two of you got together. All the fights and the drinking. You're drinking too much by the way."

"Ya worried about me?"

"I'm worried about our stash," she said flatly.

"Yer a real keeper Yank."

"Look down."

Merle obliged. He figured she was lying about not being worried about him. It was kind of nice of her. He was drinking a lot lately. He blamed it on old habits and the difficultly with which they died. And Tiff was a fuckin' handful. He thought about how nice it had been when he shared the room with Sinclaire. She'd been good for a midnight conversation and she read to him. Tiff got mad when he woke her up and she hated books. Of course, Merle hated books too.

"Ya ever gonna finish Iron House?" he asked.

"I did," she answered.

"Without me?"

"If you keep jerking your head around you're going to be missing your right ear too. If it's symmetry you want then just say so."

"I oughta make ya start all over again."

"Yes, because reading is the best way to punish me," she said sarcastically. "I'll let you borrow it."

"Readin' with one hand's a bitch. Anyway, I kinda got used to yer voice."

"I thought you hated my voice."

"I hate yer accent," Merle stressed. "Nothin' wrong with yer voice."

"I would have thought they'd go hand in hand. Chin up."

He looked at the sky. She stepped around in front of him and swiped the knife across a few more times before she toweled the remains of grease off his head.

"I can't believe it, but you're done. And it was pretty easy."

She wiped the knife off on the towel and glanced around the camp.

"Lookin' for somebody else to shave?" Merle asked with a grin as he ran his hand over his head. He raised his voice when his brother walked by. "Daryl'd probably let ya."

"Let her what?" Daryl asked warily.

"Shave yer head."

Daryl raised a hand to his hair self consciously.

"Don't know about that. I know it's kinda long now but—"

"I can cut it!"

Everyone looked at Carrie in surprise.

"I really can, I've got scissors and everything."

Sinclaire wondered what else a person would need to cut hair, but she kept she kept the question to herself.

"Uh," Daryl began.

"I was in cosmetology school," she said. "I almost had my certificate. Come on, please!"

Daryl glanced Sinclaire's way. She shrugged. She didn't really have much opinion on his hair.

"Go for it baby brother," Merle urged. "Ya can't look no worse. And yer startin' to look like a girl."

Daryl sighed and sat down. Carrie clapped her hands and ran to Nate's SUV. She came back with a gleaming pair of scissors and a big smile. Daryl swallowed hard.

"Think he needs ya to hold his hand, Yank," Merle said.

"Fuck off," Daryl said, but he sounded distracted. He clearly didn't trust Carrie with anything sharp near his head.

Sinclaire wasn't sure she blamed him. Carrie was a pretty flighty person.

"Don't worry!" Carrie said with a grin as she finger combed his hair. "I'll leave enough for Sinclaire to grab on to."

"Thanks," Daryl said dryly.

Sinclaire watched Carrie run her fingers through his hair and thought about how Carrie had wanted him. He'd probably rather have her in the truck at night. It wasn't going well between them at all.

The kisses were getting better as he gained confidence and it was enough at times to send shivers through her, but there wasn't much chance of progressing beyond that because every time he tried she barely gasped out the word pineapple before shoving him away.

She'd been pondering the problem all day today and she'd come up with a possible reason. It was better when she could see him. The problem was that, obviously, they couldn't just do it with the lights on.

Except that she might have a plan for that. She just hadn't had a chance to get him alone today. She decided that she'd ask when his hair was cut and he looked a little less worried. She could see that the haircut was shaping up just fine, but that didn't stop her from mirroring Merle's concered expression the whole time. It was more fun that way.

Once Daryl's haircut was complete and he, and everyone else, saw that he didn't look bad, Carrie found herself overwhelmed with customers. Sinclaire was going to join them, but Daryl pulled her away from the line.

"What?"

"I like it," he said in a low voice. "Don't cut it all off."

It was hard to say no to that, so Sinclaire didn't try. He could be a little bit adorable at times.

"I wanted to talk to you anyway," she said.

"Okay."

"In private."

"Truck?"

"Woods."

He scooped up his crossbow and they headed into the treeline.

"So I think I know what the problem is," she said, looking studiously away from him.

"Problem with what?"

"With the Pineapple conundrum."

"Oh." Then, when she didn't elaborate he said, "Well? Ain't a mind reader ya know."

"I'm thinking that the problem is the darkness," she said in a rush. "When I can't see you, even though I know it's you, I picture…anyway. I think that if we had light…then you know…I wouldn't be trapped by old associations."

"Ya wanna fuck in the truck in broad daylight?" Daryl looked like he'd consider it.

"No! I was thinking about your "deer stand"

"Oh. Well…sure if ya want to."

"Well if you don't…"

"Never said that. I just get the feelin' yer makin' fun of my deer stand."

"Bowhunter, it's a tree house and you might as well admit it."

"It's a deer stand with a roof. And walls. Can't help it if Carl and Sophia play in it sometimes."

"You showed it to them!"

"Where are they today anyway?" he asked. "Don't wanna uh…"

"Scar innocent children for life with our talk of pineapples?" Sinclaire said with a laugh. "Sophia is helping with the laundry and Carl is grounded. I didn't get the details, but he can't leave the house."

Daryl snorted. "See how long that lasts."

"He's a good kid," Sinclaire said. "And really…it's not like any of us ever stay in the house unless we have to."

"Guess that's true." He waved his arm to indicate that she should precede him up the rope ladder he'd stolen from Nate's SUV so she did and he pulled it up after them.

"It's a beautiful tree house," she said.

"Deer stand."

"Women really go for guys who are nice to kids," she informed him.

He leaned closer and cupped his hand around the back of her head. Just before his lips met hers he said, "Glad ya like my tree house."

This time she didn't wait for him to nudge her onto her back. A few kisses and several reassuring daylight glances had her tense with actual anticipation. It was kind of weird to be actually turned on.

She buried her fingers in his hair—Carrie had been right—and pulled him down on top of her. Another glance caught the pleased shock on his face. He braced on hand beside her shoulder and slid the other under her lower back pulling her closer against him as he pressed his lips to her neck.

Sinclaire further shocked them both by arching her hips against him, rubbing against the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Shit," he groaned as she felt his shoulders go tense under her fingers.

His lips found hers again and she found that she really liked the new desperation in the kiss. She wrapped her legs around him to get him closer as she arched her back again. It was feeling more than just not-panic-inducing. It was starting to feel nearly delicious.

He must have agreed because he pushed against her the next time she arched against him and both of them groaned in pleasure.

"Shit," she echoed. "Bowhunter…I…"

"No no," he said hurriedly. "Don't talk. Ya might say pineapple."

Sinclaire wondered idly if he'd ever enjoy a pineapple again if the world went back to normal, but she didn't think this was the best time to get into the discussion. Since he didn't want her to talk, she simply yanked at his jacket and once it was gone she began fumbling at the buttons of his flannel shirt. It was hard to do with him over her.

Once he realized that they weren't making much forward progress he got to his knees and yanked her up with him. She liked the way his hand curved around the back of her neck when he kissed her, but she had to pull away to watch as she unbuttoned the shirt. The panic wasn't near eclipse proportions but she was aware of it in the very back of her mind.

There were nice distractions as the shirt came off though. For one thing, he had great arms. For another she discovered that she had a thing for tattoos. Another difference. She ducked her head and kissed the one on his chest before looking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow and looked significantly at her many layers.

"I think so," she whispered.

Her jacket landed on the floor beside his about a second later. He took longer with the vest since there was a gun in it, and then he skimmed the first shirt over her head. Then the next.

"How many shirts ya got?" he asked in amusement.

"Three. It's cold."

"I'll keep ya warm."

That part was true. As the last shirt landed on the floor she knew that the cold air had washed over her skin but all she felt was the heat of the gaze he swept her with. Sinclaire caught her breath when his fingers brushed down over her stomach teasing her skin until his hands rested on her hips.

"Not much to ya without all them layers," he said. "I mean…ya know…"

"You thought I was fat," she teased. "You can admit it."

"No! I never though ya was fat! I've always thought ya were beautiful."

She leaned forward and kissed him. This was nice too. He'd looked at her almost hungrily, but there was still a lightness to being with him. It wasn't frightening at all. And he thought she was beautiful. Couldn't go wrong there.

She felt his hands move up her back to the clasp of her bra. He was moving slowly but maybe he was distracted. Her fingers were moving equally slowly toward his belt buckle. She felt his stomach tighten when she brushed it and heard him catch his breath.

He pulled her closer to him. She liked the way he wrapped her in his arms it felt almost comforting. He knew this wasn't easy for her and she wanted to make this good for him. She slid her hand into his jeans and felt him jerk against her when her fingers found him.

"Fuck."

"That's the general idea." She closed her hand around him and tried to measure mentally. If her calculations were correct the women who hadn't banged him in the past were the ones who'd missed out.

His hands went to the clasp of her bra with more conviction this time.

And then they heard the argument beneath them.

Sinclaire went still and listened as Bowhunter began to reach new heights in inventive swearing. He did it all in a very low voice so he didn't alert whoever was in woods to their presence, but he did it very well. He pulled his shirt back on and bundled her layers in a ball.

She edged closer to a window to listen as she untangled her clothes and dressed again.

"I don't think we should be going this way," a woman's voice said. "I think we're back tracking."

"Stay calm," a man replied in a confident tone. "God told me which way to go. This is where we're meant to be."

Sinclaire raised an eyebrow.

"We need to keep going this way, through the woods and see what we can find."

She saw that the man was pointing in the direction of the bar. This wasn't a good sign.

The woman had crossed her arms over her chest and was shaking her head vigorously. She was younger than Sinclaire had thought. She'd have guessed mid-twenties but the dirt caked on her face was probably aging her. Maybe 21? 22? The man was older, probably around Merle's age, but he was Merle's polar opposite, lean and lanky and as black as Merle was white. He did seem remarkable calm about this whole thing.

"I'm not sure that this is right," she said again. "I feel like he'll be there…waiting for me."

"That's just Satan trying to keep you down."

The man put his hand on the woman's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

"I have heard the word of the Lord. If we keep going we'll find others—"

The young woman flung herself away from his touch and threw her arms out. Sinclaire noticed how worn her clothes were. She wore a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a tee shirt that bagged to near her knees. She also wore a light running jacket. The man didn't look much better. He was still dressed like a reverend complete with the little white thing at his collar, but his clothes were just as loose and the crisp black had faded.

"Are you not understanding that I don't want to meet more people? People aren't handling this well! I want to be alone!"

"It's not safe to be alone. Look at us," the man turned her back around. "We aren't handling this too well ourselves. We haven't eaten in days. The Lord tells me that there are good people around. People that will take care of us."

"Well," Bowhunter drawled from the door of the tree house. "Yer half right. There's people over there fer sure. But I don't know how helpful we're apt to be."


	41. Chapter 41

The girl went so pale so fast that Sinclaire was worried that she was going to pass out. The man reached out and steadied her as he looked up at them.

"You two from that camp up there?" he asked.

"What camp?"

Sinclaire admired the way Bowhunter staunchly avoided answering the question, but she admitted that her heartstrings tugged just a little.

"The one the Lord told me was on up ahead," the man answered evenly. "He told me something about a last chance."

Sinclaire felt her eyebrows go up. She wasn't particularly religious, but her mother and father had taken her to church on the major holidays. She had to admit she was impressed. She was the only one.

"Think it might be best if ya'll just headed on back where ya came from."

"No!"

It was the first time the girl had spoken and she did it vehemently.

"You don't know what it's like out there! It's easy for you to sit up there with your guns and your…" she nodded to the crossbow. "Whatever the hell that is, but what if you didn't have those? What if—"

"It's a crossbow. And I don't ever plan to find out what might happen if I didn't have it. I sure as fuck know what it's like out there, sweetheart, and that's why I ain't plannin' on lettin' people just stroll into my woods like they own the place."

"Oh these are _your _woods?" the girl put her hands on her hips and did her best to sneer.

Sinclaire gave her props. It was shaky, but it was there.

"I guess we didn't get the memo. I guess, while we were busy _running for our lives_, we should have stopped and asked permission from the local redneck."

"Daryl," he cut in. "And ya damn well should've."

"Brother please—" the man began.

"I ain't yer damn brother."

"We need to have a talk," the man went on without showing any sign of impatience at the interruption. "For example, I'd like to know your name."

He nodded at Sinclaire. She recognized the tactic. Divide and conquer.

"It's Sinclaire," she said as she tossed down the rope ladder and climbed down it. "Captain Sinclaire Lewis. U.S Army."

"Mighty pleased to meet you, Captain Lewis," the man said formally as he held his hand out. When she shook it he said, "I'm Reverend Amos Fletchley and this is my companion—"

"No," the girl said. "What's the point? They aren't going to let us stick around no matter what God told you."

"Ya really expect me to believe that God sent ya'll here?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything but that which the Almighty Himself chooses to impart upon you," Reverend Amos Fletchley said sonorously. "But he showed me the way to you and told me that we'd be protected by you. He showed me your hearts. You're good, Godly people."

Sinclaire was suddenly possessed of a strong desire to laugh. Here she was practicing fornication with a virgin in the woods while Lori was pregnant with a baby that was either her husband's or his best friend's. Andrea and Dale were shacking up, as were Glenn and Carrie. Tiff was an ex-stripper, stopped only by a zombie apocalypse, and Merle was…well. Merle was Merle. The good Reverend would be in for a shock.

"I guess we can take you to our leader," she said, earning an extremely dirty look from Bowhunter. "We'll let him decide on what to do with you."

"Bring him here," the girl said.

"He's a family man. Got a son and a kid on the way. He ain't gonna come waltzing out here fer yer convenience."

That, as Sinclaire knew, was a lie, but she decided to see what the Reverend and his companion did with the information.

"It's okay," the man said with a reassuring pat on the girl's shoulder. "It won't be like last time."

"How do you know?" she whispered.

"What the hell happened to ya?"

"None of your business you jerk," the girl snapped.

"Shit. Fine then. Ya'll can follow or not. All the same to me."

With that, Bowhunter turned and stomped toward camp. Sinclaire hurried to catch up.

"I've never seen you be that mean," she whispered.

"Don't like that fuckin' preacher man. Don't know what the hell's up with the girl. She's skittish and I don't like people like that."

"Someone's hurt her," Sinclaire said.

"Yeah, and what do ya think that means for us?"

"I don't know. I think bringing them to Rick was a good idea though."

"Hope so," was all he replied.

It wasn't exactly a cheery answer, and when she saw the alarm on everyone's faces when newcomers stepped into the camp, she wished they had just gotten Rick and met back with them in the woods. Shane and Nate both stepped forward with guns drawn and the girl began to shake visibly.

"Buck up," Bowhunter muttered out of the side of his mouth. "Ain't gonna shoot ya with me standin' right in front of ya."

"I'm fine," she said, clearly lying.

"Who the hell's this?" Merle asked for everyone.

"They claim to come in peace," Sinclaire said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "They want to talk to Rick."

Rick stepped forward and Shane came with him with the shotgun on his shoulder.

"Get yer ass over here," Merle barked at Sinclaire.

She didn't want to have to deal with the repercussions of ignoring him, so she took her ass over to where he was seated by the fire.

"The fuck ya thinkin' Yank?" he demanded. "We barely got enough fer us and ya start bringin' home strays?"

"What can I say?" she said flippantly. "I'm soft hearted. You can't complain about it for sure."

"Shit," he said, drawing the word out into three or four syllables. "I can complain all I damn well please. They coulda knifed ya in yer fuckin' back or some shit."

"You underestimate me," she said with a grin.

"Where's my idiot brother anyhow?"

"He stayed to talk with Rick and the Reverend. To be fair you didn't order his ass over here."

"Figured it'd be implied," Merle said with a frown, borrowing one of Sinclaire's phrases without realizing it. "Hang on. Reverend? Ya shittin' me?"

"Not at all. Or at least that's what he says he is. Dresses the part too."

"The girl?"

"I don't know. She's spooked. She talked about "him" waiting for her. I don't know who "him" is though. The guns seemed to scare the hell out of her too."

"Been hurt bad," Merle said as he eyed her. "Broke ribs I betcha."

"Ribs?" Sinclaire turned and looked back.

"See how she's standin'? Ain't nobody's posture that damn good all the time."

"Surprisingly astute," she said with a smile.

"I broke Daryl's once," he said. "That's how he walked fer about a month. Ain't nothin' ya can do ya know. Just gotta let 'em heal."

"It'll take more than a month to heal what's wrong with that girl," Sinclaire predicted. "If Rick let's them stay."

"My bet is that he will," Merle said. "He's a fuckin' soft touch. Jest like ya are."

"Fuck you Merle Dixon; I am not a soft touch."

"Jest repeatin' after ya, Yank."

He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Seems like it's getting sort of heated over there," she said after a moment of watching the conversation.

Rick was speaking, but so was Shane. Nate had stepped into the conversation as well and soon Sinclaire saw him start talking just like everyone else. The girl was gesturing and the Reverend seemed to be trying to get everyone to quiet down. It wasn't working. Bowhunter was the only one who was silent.

Tiff and Carrie came and sat down near Merle and Sinclaire.

"I'm worried," Tiff admitted when Merle put his arm around her.

"Why?" he asked. "Look harmless to me."

"But what if they're infected?" Carrie asked.

"That's what happened at the safe haven," Tiff said. "People who were bitten came in even though they weren't supposed to and killed almost everyone there."

Merle looked at Sinclaire.

"I guess we could ask them to submit to being searched," she said. "But I don't know how the girl would take it."

"You shouldn't give them a choice!" Tiff said vehemently. "If they change in the night we could all die!"

Sinclaire knew she was right about that so she said, "If Rick lets them stay I'll tell him to search them."

The two women seemed to relax a little at that, but the scene near the Reverend was getting more tense by the minute. Shane was shouting now and occasionally so was Nate.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"That's my little brother," Merle said with a grin as silence fell at Daryl's sudden shout.

"Longer we stand here yellin' the more attention we draw," he continued. "So let's make a damn decision and be done with it. I say they can stay. We watch ya like fuckin' hawks," he clarified. "But ya stay. 'Least that's my vote. Do what the fuck ya want."

Sinclaire gave him a thumbs up as he walked away from the conversation and he gave her the barest hint of a grin.

"Ya finally got some balls," Merle said, punching him the arm.

"Figured ya'd chew me out fer sayin' they could stay," Daryl said as he sat down beside Sinclaire.

"Rick's gonna cave," Merle said. "Knew it from the minute ya'll dragged 'em into the damn parkin' lot."

"Your grasp of human nature is surprisingly astute," Sinclaire muttered when Rick gestured for Reverend and companion to join the group at the fire.

"Sure is," Merle said smugly.

"Are you up for making new friends?" she asked.

"Fuck that. Sure hope it ain't gonna break their hearts when I don't give a shit."

"The girl seems pretty standoffish," Sinclaire acknowledged. "But Reverend Amos is a friendly man."

She'd barely finished the sentence before the man was in the middle of the group shaking hands and praising God.

"He starts handin' out Kool-Aid and ya come find me," Merle muttered to Sinclaire and Tiff.

"Sure thing," Sinclaire said as Tiff giggled and gave him a hug.

"And these must be your friends," Amos said, holding out his hand to Merle. "I can't tell you how happy I am that the Lord led me here."

"Looks to me like Yank and Daryl led ya here," Merle said. Sinclaire kicked his shin and he shook the man's hand.

"Who do you think sent them to us?" the man said unflappably.

Merle sighed and chose not to continue the conversation. Mostly thanks to another kick from Sinclaire.

The girl didn't seem to be interested in a meet and greet. She stood stiffly with her back to the fire and her arms crossed. Every now and then Merle saw her glance at Daryl. Finally she couldn't hold back anymore.

"Why'd you stick up for us?" she asked.

Daryl looked up at her and shrugged.

"You didn't even want to take us back. Why'd you do it?"

"What was the point in not doin' it? Ya already knew where we was livin' by then. Ya think I could make ya forget? I ain't a fuckin' Jedi."

She snorted and turned away again.

Sinclaire laughed. "These are not the survivors you are looking for."

Merle ruffled her hair and stood up.

"Question is, where ya puttin' 'em?" he asked. "We're pretty full up around here."

"There's always the kitchen," Nate pointed out.

"What about that?" the girl asked, jerking her thumb at the box truck. "It looks big enough."

"That's mine," Daryl drawled.

"Fuck that, I'm just lettin' ya borrow it," Merle said indignantly.

"Actually," Sinclaire said as she spun a keychain around her finger. "It's mine. But the point is that it's taken. We sleep in it."

"When you've got a tree house all your own?" the girl asked.

Sinclaire shrugged. "Variety is the spice of life. Even during a zombie apocalypse."

"Zombies?" the girl repeated. "Is that what you call the biters?"

"Yeah. Biters? Is that what you call them?"

"That's what he called them."

"He who?" Sinclaire asked, aware that it made her sound like a donkey.

The girl didn't answer so the Reverend took over.

"Fellow calls himself the…mayor?"

"Governor," the girl answered tightly. "He called himself the Governor."

"The Governor," Amos corrected himself. "I never knew him myself. I ran into Girlie at my church; she'd been hurt bad. Barely escaped with her life."

"Your church?" Sinclaire asked. "Were you hiding out there?"

"Why would I not take shelter in the house of the Lord?"

"I don't know. I guess it occurred to a lot of people," Sinclaire mused.

"Just me and the Rev." the girl snapped. "He patched me up; we stayed there until the food ran out."

"How much food ya keep in yer church?" Merle asked. He was still standing but he was plainly more interested in the conversation than he thought he'd be and he wasn't planning to go anywhere.

"We'd been planning a big youth party and bake sale," Amos said. "I actually had more than enough to live on for a long while."

"Well shit," Merle drawled. "Guess it was good timin' fer ya."

"The Lord did provide."

"Ya must be a hell of a guy fer him to provide so damn much fer ya and let most everybody else get eaten."

The sarcasm was brutal but the Reverend seemed used to it. He only shrugged and others joined in the conversation.

Sinclaire turned when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"I want to talk to you."

She raised an eyebrow at Shane but she stood up. Daryl stood too, Merle stepped forward when she did.

"I don't need your entourage either," Shane snapped.

"You make me sound like a rock star. Very well my dahlings," she said to Merle and Daryl. "If I'm not back in five minutes bring a shovel. You'll have to help me hide the body."


	42. Chapter 42

"So what's up?" Sinclaire asked Shane when they were a good way from the group.

"I want to know just what the hell you thought you were doing bringing them here."

He shifted the rifle and stared her down. Or at least he tried. Sinclaire met his gaze as she crossed her arms which had the double benefit of looking nonchalant and putting her in drawing distance of her gun. She raised an eyebrow. So did he. She wondered if they were going to stand here all day like this.

"I thought," she said calmly. "That they seemed like good people."

He snorted. "So you had some kind of Indian communion moment? Good vibes?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Well, my white wolf spirit guide told me they were cool. What more was there to ask for?"

Shane sighed heavily. Sinclaire shrugged. Who the hell had even told him about her quarter Indian heritage anyway?

"They don't look dangerous to me," she said. "And they were headed this way anyway. They would have been here by tonight even if they hadn't followed us back. Wouldn't you rather let them see the strength we've got then let them sneak up in the night?"

"I guess," Shane mused. "But I think it'd be a good idea to double the guard until we know for sure."

"That's a good idea."

"And I think that, since it was your idea, you take first watch with Rick."

"Fine." She smiled sweetly at him. "And since you're so concerned about all our safety, you'll take the second one."

She walked away before he could answer, not that she'd really left him any argument. The group at the fire seemed tense, but not everyone was as worried about the newcomers as Shane. Dale, T, and the Reverend were deep in a discussion that looked almost friendly. The girl caught her eye and stood up.

"So you said the truck was yours," she said abruptly. "But you didn't say that I couldn't sleep in it. I mean you really do have that tree house and-"

"Ain't a tree house," Daryl snarled. "It's a deer stand."

"I've never seen a deer stand that looked like that," the girl said with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

"Been up in a lotta deer stands sweetheart?" Daryl drawled.

"Just as many as you," she shot back.

"Bullshit. How old are ya anyway?"

"None of your business."

She walked away. Daryl glanced at Sinclaire. She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Yer gonna watch my back tonight right?" he asked. "Pretty sure she wants me dead."

"I'll be watching more backs than just yours," Sinclaire informed him. "Shane wants to double up on watch for awhile. I got roped into the first one."

"I'll sit up with ya."

"Actually I've been assigned to Rick."

"Rick?" Daryl repeated. "Assigned by who?"

"Shane."

"Why the hell ya lettin' that asshole push ya around?"

"I'm not letting him push me around," Sinclaire said patiently. "He's right."

"Ya didn't tell him that did ya?"

She laughed. "Of course not."

"Well…" Daryl finally shrugged. "I guess there ain't nothin' I can do about it now."

"I'm afraid not," she agreed.

"This kinda sucks."

"Why?"

He shrugged again and headed back to the truck. It was only once he was halfway there that Sinclaire realized what he meant. She sucked at sexual innuendo apparently. She guessed that he wanted to finish what they'd started at the tree house. She chewed her thumbnail absentmindedly and thought about it.

It had been nice. It had felt good. It hadn't scared her at all at the time. She wasn't sure she could do it again though. She felt heat flooding along her face as she thought about it. She'd probably been a little too eager now that she thought back on it.

"What the hell ya thinkin' about?" Merle asked as he watched her face turn the color of sunset.

"Nothing!"

"Sex," he said with satisfaction. "Ya always look like that when yer thinkin' about sex."

"How often have you seen me think about sex?"

"When ya read those dirty books of yers. And when my brother shows up. How come ya never looked at me like that?"

Sinclaire rubbed her cheeks vigorously to try and redistribute the blood that had collected there.

"Oh come on Merle, everybody knows I can barely keep my hands off of you," she said.

"I ain't noticed. So did ya finally make a man outta my brother or not?"

"He's manly enough," Sinclaire said. "But we got interrupted by the new people."

"Interrupted how far along?"

"Classified."

"Fuck it is. Did ya—"

"No. No we didn't. We were kissing and…stuff."

Merle raised an eyebrow.

"Reckon somebody else could take yer watch fer ya."

"Are you offering?"

"Hell no. I'm goin' to sleep."

"Well, I think that I'll be okay going without."

"Not impressed with him?" Merle asked.

"He's…he's fine. I didn't see any reason to not be impressed. Go away. I'm trying to stop blushing and you're just making it worse!"

He laughed and walked over to Daryl.

"Hey there little brother," he said casually.

"Ah fuck. She told ya," Daryl answered resignedly.

"I just came to say I was proud of ya is all."

"Bullshit."

Merle boosted himself up into the truck and said, "She's got nice tits don't she?"

"When the hell did ya see her..." Daryl couldn't even manage to finish the sentence.

"Been awhile," Merle admitted. "Right after I met her. She changed clothes in the back of the truck. I was pretty impressed. Guess ya was too."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle.

"Ya sure yer all right with this?"

"Ya having sex? Change ain't easy but I think I'll be all right."

"No. Me and Sinclaire havin' sex."

"Ya think I care who she fucks?"

"I know damn good and well ya care who she fucks. What would ya do if Nate—"

"Kick his ass."

"See? Ya care."

"That's just 'cause he's a fuckin' jackass and I don't trust him."

"What if Shane made a move?"

"He's an even bigger jackass."

"Rick?"

"Yeah right."

"T-dog?"

"Fuck no."

"Glenn?"

"His hands are pretty full. But even if they wasn't…no. Ain't happenin'. Who you gonna say next? The old man? The preacher?"

"The old man's already fuckin' one woman half his age," Daryl pointed out. "And preachers got needs too."

"No," Merle said flatly. "None of them."

"See? Ya care." Daryl repeated.

"Why do ya care that I care?" Merle demanded. "Ya lookin' to get out of it or somethin'?"

"I'm pretty much lookin' to get into it," Daryl contradicted. "But I don't wanna…ya know. If ya want her then ya oughta tell me."

"What if I said I did?"

Merle watched Daryl's face fall.

"Lucky fer ya I ain't sayin' that. Yer poker face still sucks." He punched Daryl in the shoulder and headed toward the bar.

"Yer sure?" Daryl called after him.

"Sure am." Merle called back before continuing in an undertone. "Wouldn't do me much good no way. She ain't never looked at me like she does—"

"You know talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity right?"

"An ya know it takes one to know one," Merle answered with a grin at Sinclaire. "Enjoy yer watch."

"Oh you know it," she answered with a wink as she flipped her hair over her shoulder. "It'll be a thrill a minute."

"Think ya got it confused with other, better things," he informed her. "I expect ya to holler if ya need me."

"You'd be the first person I'd call," she said honestly as she took her seat on the back steps of the bar and watched the sun go down.

Rick joined her a little later, even bringing her a blanket from inside.

"Wow," she said thankfully. "Chivalry isn't dead."

"Actually," Rick said as he sat down beside her. "Merle threw it at me on the way out. He said you get cold."

"He spoke the truth," Sinclaire acknowledged. "Don't tell him what I said about chivalry. It'll go to his head."

Rick nodded and glanced toward the SUV.

"What do you think of them?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't mind them," Sinclaire answered after some thought. "They could be okay."

"I talked to her some more about this Governor," Rick went on. "If I didn't know how scared she was I'd have said she was lying."

"Why?"

"It seems…unreal." Rick told her about the man who called himself the Governor, about people fighting in a cage of live zombies, about his collection of heads in aquariums, about his total control over an entire town.

"Damn," Sinclaire muttered. "And where exactly is this?"

"They've come a long way," Rick said. "I got one of the maps Nate brought with him and showed her where we are. She showed me where she was from and the town, Woodbury, is about eighty miles from here. But she says they go looking for other places, other survivors, for supplies and manpower."

Sinclaire chewed her lip.

"Do you think we should move out?" Rick asked. "Get further away from this guy? There's only so far he's going to go."

"That's true," Sinclaire agreed. "But that doesn't mean we won't run into more people like him."

"You really think there are more towns like Woodbury?"

"I don't know. But I know that there were other people who went a little batshit, even at the beginning of this. I didn't tell you before, but Merle and I ran into some whack jobs on the way here."

She told him the story of the men holed up in the small prison and how she and Merle had escaped. She also told him about Metz, but she left out the details of that one. Of all the things she'd done since this whole thing started, leaving the school her unit had occupied was the one that really haunted her.

"It's been different for us," Rick said slowly. "I guess some people kind of lost it—"

"I doubt it was Merle's stellar teamwork skills that landed him on that roof," Sinclaire said with a slight smile.

Rick chuckled a little and said, "Not quite. But there were others. People you didn't know. A woman named Jackie…she chose to stay when the CDC blew. There was a man named Jim who got bitten. He didn't tell us, but we found out. Sometimes I wonder if he'd have said anything at all or if he'd have just turned and put us all in danger."

"Fear does things to a person's mind," Sinclaire said. "Things that you never thought you'd do…" she cleared her throat and said, "Anyway, I don't think you realize how much influence you have over these people. You're the one who keeps them sane, together, and functioning."

"Except for the Dixon brothers," Rick corrected. "That's pretty much in your hands."

"Merle maybe," she acknowledged. "But the point is…I've held command before. Not for long...I'd actually just made Captain right before this whole thing started…but I do know how hard it is and how much stress you must be under. So I just wanted you to know that I'll help you in any way I can."

"Thank you," Rick said sincerely. "I'll keep that in mind."

"No problem. Now, back to this Governor thing…"

They spent the rest of watch debating strategy and perusing maps. In the end they decided to stay where they were for now, but they also decided that a doubled watch was the new normal. By the time Shane and T showed up they felt a bit more satisfied with their safety.

She waved to Rick and then walked over to the box truck. It wouldn't be long till Bowhunter would be waking up. He woke up like clockwork at about 5, which Sinclaire found to be ungodly. She'd had to wake up early during her military career, but it was the worst thing about it in her opinion. Bowhunter had missed his calling.

She slid open the truck door cautiously, but he was clearly asleep. She didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed, but she crawled in and lowered the door quietly. Then she lay down a bit closer than normal to get some warmth.

She thought she'd woken him with her awkward attempt to snuggle when he rolled over and pulled her close, but either she hadn't or he'd forgotten about finishing what they'd started, because he didn't do anything else. Once again, she wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.


	43. Chapter 43

Note: This turned out to be a long-ass chapter. But you know…action at least (in the end)!

When Merle walked out of the bar the next morning and saw Daryl coming back from the woods with no pretty Yankee in sight he sighed.

"Where's Sinclaire?" he asked.

"Sleepin'," Daryl answered. "Ya forget she had watch?"

"No. But what I don't understand is why yer out here and not in there."

"Lettin' her sleep. Called bein' a gentleman."

"An look how far that shit's got ya."

"Go to hell."

"Now is that any way to talk to yer favorite brother?"

"Yer my only brother."

"See. Limited edition. Oughta make me even more special."

"Shit," Daryl drawled. "Ya ain't exactly mint condition."

Merle punched him in the shoulder with a grin.

"Anything interestin' happen last night?" he asked since Daryl had been up longer.

"Nah. Walsh and T had to kill some walkers right before dawn, but it wasn't nothin' they couldn't handle."

"What'd they do with 'em?"

"Dropped 'em over the cliff," Daryl said, with a gesture past the box truck and up toward the campground. "Said it was easier'n burnin' 'em. I say it's bad for the water supply but don't nobody ask my opinion before they fuck shit up."

Merle nodded in agreement and watched the new girl as she sat down on a long next to the preacher and pulled her knees up to rest her chin on them.

"Found out any more about her?"

"Just that she still hates me. She ain't even talkin' to me now."

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't fuckin' know! All I did was ask her if she was ever gonna say what her name was. Preacher-man calls her Girlie, but that ain't her name."

"An what'd she say?"

"Said what the hell did I care anyway since I was such a jerk and walked off. Ow! What the hell Merle?"

Daryl rubbed the back of his head where his brother had cuffed him.

"Watch it. Yer with Yank and I ain't gonna have ya hurtin' her."

"I don't think ya got the point of the story. That girl hates me."

"Yeah but I know how ya get. Ya always go after the ones that fuckin' hate ya. Remember the cheerleader in high school? Or Macy down at the bank? Or—"

"Yeah," Daryl cut in. "This ain't like that. And I don't think ya oughta complain that I got standards. Maybe ya oughta get some of yer own."

"Ya talkin' 'bout my woman?"

"Yer stripper?"

"Hell, I ain't seen her workin' it fer nobody but me lately," Merle said.

"Bet she would if I asked her."

"Well if she did at least ya'd be doin' somethin'."

Defeated, Daryl stayed quiet. Merle nodded in satisfaction.

"Anyway, I thought ya liked Tiff."

"Got no problems with her," Daryl admitted. "Just…surprised I guess."

"Bout what?" 

"Yer doin' good now. Clean and all that…"

Merle watched his brother contemplate the toes of his boots as if they held the secrets to the universe as he went on, "But ya know…she's kinda like the women ya always used to fuck around with before. Guess I thought it might change. And anyway, ya never used to bring a woman home fer dinner, let alone let her stay over. Now yer livin' with her."

"Ain't livin' with her," Merle denied. "It's just more convenient this way. Anyway, I believe in takin' what I can get," Merle said with a shrug. "Better'n sleepin' by myself. Only reason ya see it different is cause ya don't know what yer missin'."

Daryl didn't even bother to answer before he walked away.

"Why are you always so mean to your poor little brother?" Tiff asked as she walked toward the accessible end of the creek.

"Can't hurt to toughen him up," Merle said. "Where ya headed?"

"Wash my face. Lori's throwing up in our sink."

"What the hell's she doin' that fer?"

"It's a little thing called morning sickness," Tiff explained. "Trust me, it's worse on her than you."

"How would ya know that?" Before the question had left his mouth he had his answer. "Ya had a kid?"

"No." Tiff's eyes flicked away from his. "I didn't. Doesn't mean I don't know what morning sickness feels like though."

She walked away and left him standing there in slight confusion. It wasn't like he'd asked her before he fucked her. It wasn't even like he'd never been with a woman with kids before because he had. He couldn't put his finger on why it bothered him, so he did what he'd grown used to doing when he was confused.

Sinclaire groaned in annoyance when the truck door was jerked up, admitting fresh air and horrible, horrible sunlight.

"Hey Yank."

"We'd better be under some form of attack," she informed him.

"Nah," he said, climbing in and pulling the door back down. "Just wanted to talk."

"I have never wanted to talk less than I do in this moment," she said as she buried her head under her pillow.

"Better fer me that way," he answered with a grin. "Just listen like a good girl."

"Oh go straight to hell."

"Straight there?"

"Straight there. Do not pass go, do not collect $200…you really aren't going to go away are you?"

"No."

"Fine. Then go ahead and talk. Don't let the pillow over my head become a factor."

She pressed it down over her head and caught the words, "So….I…Tiff…pregnant…"

"What?" she yelped.

"Yeah. I can't figure out why it bothers me so much," Merle said. "It ain't that big of a deal—"

"It's not that _big of a deal_? It's a huge deal! It's…I…how could you be irresponsible? Don't you think about anything but what you want? Didn't you think about how this would—"

"What the hell are ya…oh. Yank, hang on just a second—"

Sinclaire didn't listen. She sat up and smacked him with the pillow. When that didn't relieve her frustration, she began punching him in the chest as she said, "You are the most self centered, irresponsible, son of a—"

"I didn't get her pregnant!" Merle grabbed her and yanked her around so that her back was against his chest as he pinned her arms to her sides. "She was pregnant before this whole thing. I just found out about it."

"Oh. Oh well that's different. Sorry about the punching. Why should that matter?"

"It don't matter. It's just…I don't know. Bugged me a little. Anyway just so ya know, I can't have kids."

"Why not?" She tilted her chin to look up at him.

He made a 'snip-snip' gesture with his left hand.

"Why'd you do that?"

"They kept tellin' me I'd end up like my old man," Merle said. "Thought I'd prove 'em wrong just a little bit."

Sinclaire felt her chest get tight. Somehow that knowledge, that Merle would deny himself a family just to avoid hurting them, wormed into her heart and made her want to do something she'd never wanted before. She turned slightly and put her arms around him.

"Didn't think ya was the huggin' type," Merle said in surprise as he tightened his arms around her.

"I could say the same for you," she countered.

"Reckon so. What'd I do to get ya all up in my lap anyway? Might have to do more of it."

"And the moment is killed." She withdrew and sat down next to him. "For a second you were…vulnerable. Women love that shit."

"Didn't ever help Daryl out. An I ain't never vulnerable, sweetheart. So what do ya think happened to Tiff's kid?"

"I don't know. Do you think it died in this thing?"

"Nah. She said she never had a kid…but that she knew mornin' sickness."

"Well, there are only two options. Abortion or miscarriage. Neither one is any of your business."

"Reckon not. Just…I don't know. I don't know much about her."

"How much did you know about your hookers?"

"Good point." Merle rubbed his chin. "Guess ya got me spoiled Yank."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Got used to feelin' like I really knew somebody." Before Sinclaire could respond, he cleared his throat briskly and grinned at her. "Anyway, I think I like this whole thing ya got happenin' with Daryl. Makes ya more touchy-feely."

"One hug doesn't count as touchy-feely. And it's not up to you to like it. It's probably not…happening."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. Get out of here. I'm sleeping."

"Yer sittin' up."

"I wouldn't be sitting up if you weren't here. All these southern ladies have rubbed off on me. Now get out."

"Must not have rubbed off much. They wouldn't ever kick somebody out."

"They left you on a roof."

"Ya got me there. All right fine. I'm gone. Yer gonna miss me, but ain't nothin' nobody can do about it now."

"I'm sure I'll manage." Sinclaire replaced the pillow over her head and waved him away.

Daryl was sharpening his hunting knife so Merle was careful about exactly how hard he smacked him the back of the head.

"What the hell?"

"Come here. Tiff, ya come here too."

"I wasn't serious about askin' her to dance fer me," Daryl informed Merle.

"Good, cause I ain't sharin' my woman."

Tiff, who had just walked over, looked twice at Daryl in surprise.

"Don't ya know better'n to listen to him by now?" Daryl asked tiredly.

"I gotta talk to Daryl," Merle said. "Ya gotta go talk to Yank."

"Sinclaire?" Daryl and Tiff repeated together.

"We got any other Yankee's around that I don't know about?" He whispered something to Tiffany and then pointed her in the direction of the truck and then shoved Daryl in the direction of the woods.

"Where we goin'?"

"Tree house."

"It's a motherfuckin' deer stand!"

"Whatever. Start walkin'."

Meanwhile, the truck door rolled up again and Sinclaire swore what Merle would have called a "blue streak."

"Sorry," Tiff said. "Merle sent me. I thought you knew I was coming."

"Fuck you Merle Dixon," Sinclaire muttered as she sat up and finger-combed her hair. "What can I do for you Tiffany?"

"Merle said I should talk to you about sex. Are you a virgin too?"

Sinclaire dropped her face into her palm. "Can this group talk of nothing else? It's all about the sex lately."

"Well…sex is awesome. Especially since we don't have any other forms of entertainment."

"There's hunting."

"Gross."

"Fishing?"

"Boring."

"Talking?"

"What do we have to say? It's not like anyone here would really hang out unless they had to."

"Reading?"

"Why do you hate sex?" Tiff burst out.

"I…never said I hate sex."

Tiff leaned forward confidentially.

"Tell me honestly. How big is his dick?"

"Uhhh…what's average?"

"Oh my God! How can you not know these things?"

"I'm a career woman!"

"So am I! Okay, average is between five and a half and seven inches."

"He's not average."

Tiff's face filled with sympathy. Sinclaire was tempted to let it go at that, but it wouldn't have been fair to Bowhunter. It was Merle she was mad at.

"No, I mean he isn't _average_," she said again with emphasis.

"Oh! So that's all right then. Unless it's, like, freakishly huge. I knew this guy once who was…okay," she said when she saw the look on Sinclaire's face. "That isn't important. So he's better than average, but still normal. He's not really gay is he?"

"No! There is nothing wrong with him or any of his…uh…parts. Everything is in working order. It's me. The problem is me. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Sex is outside my area of expertise. I never even felt anything remotely sexual before. Or if I did I repressed it or…look, I don't really want to talk about this. You can tell Merle to mind his own damn business."

"He doesn't do that kind of thing," Tiff said with a grin. "If you don't want to tell me what the issues are that's okay. But I don't know why you think you don't know what you're doing. It comes pretty naturally usually. I mean…what does he want you to do?"

"How would I know?"

"Yeah, he doesn't really talk much does he? I mean when does he—"

"This is really awkward," Sinclaire cut in. "I know you're trying to help but…"

"I don't mind talking about sex. It's you that's making it awkward," Tiff countered bluntly.

"I think I got overly enthusiastic last time. Now I'm humiliated and embarrassed and worried and humiliated some more. There. Happy?"

"It's impossible to get overly enthusiastic with a guy."

Sinclaire snorted but Tiff only raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously. Mostly, they want it all and they want you to act like it's the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"And that's it?" Sinclaire asked dryly.

"Yep. They're simple creatures. Once you figure out how to do it all with a smile on your face you can walk all over them."

"I don't want to walk all over him."

"To each their own," Tiff said with a lazy shrug.

"I don't think you're going to have much luck walking on Merle either."

Another shrug. "We'll see where it goes."

"Are you in love with him?" Sinclaire didn't know where the question came from.

"Love?" Tiff laughed. "Now there's something outside my area of expertise. Seriously, Sinclaire. Fuck Daryl. No one should have to die a virgin."

"I wasn't aware he was dying."

"We're all dying."

With that pessimistically philosophical thought, Tiff patted Sinclaire's shoulder and got out of the truck. Sinclaire chewed her lip as she lay back again. Impossible to get overly enthusiastic huh? Who woulda thought? She tried to think back to the tree house, but instead she found herself thinking back to Tiff.

Love was outside her area of expertise? Obviously, sex and love didn't go hand in hand…but she couldn't deny that she'd been surprised when Tiff had so casually admitted that she didn't love Merle. How could she not love Merle?

Sinclaire shook her head. Merle might think he needed sex, but he clearly needed more than that. Otherwise it wouldn't be bothering him so much that he didn't really know Tiffany. He needed a woman who really knew him and who wouldn't expect to walk all over him with enough sex…and who wouldn't let him walk all over her. She wondered who she could set Merle up with. Lori was taken, in more ways than one, Andrea and Dale…Carrie and Glenn…the new girl maybe, but she was awfully young. Maybe Carol…Sinclaire drifted off to sleep.

"What'd I do now anyway?" Daryl asked when they were well into the woods. "I was mindin' my own business. Sharpenin' my knife…not hurtin' nobody…"

"Quit yer bitchin'. We gotta talk about Yank."

"Didn't we already do that today?"

"Yeah. But now I got new information."

"Oh yeah?" Daryl leaned against the tree his deer stand was built into and tried to look casual. "What'd she say?"

"Yer doin' it wrong."

"She said that?"

Merle actually felt a stab of pity at how hurt Daryl looked over that.

"Nah, she didn't say that. But she said she wasn't sure it was actually gonna happen. What's the problem?"

"Hell I don't know! I thought...I mean it was goin' good if ya ask me. Seemed like she liked it."

"What'd she do?"

"Come on Merle!" Merle only crossed his arms so Daryl went old school. "Second base. Headed for third I think."

"Just thinkin' ya mighta missed a signal or somethin'. Not like ya know what yer doin'."

"Thanks. Glad we're out here by ourselves."

"Ain't nobody that don't know yer a virgin by now."

"That's not strictly true."

Daryl was rendered incapable of speech by the sudden revelation that they were not alone. Nameless girl grinned down at them from the deer stand. Merle snorted and Daryl gave him credit for at least trying to hold back the laugh.

"Really?" She asked as she tossed down the rope ladder. "I mean…how old are you?"

"Older'n you. Younger'n him," Daryl snarled. "And what the hell were ya doin' in my deer stand?"

"You wouldn't let me have the truck…although I can't see why now…and I wanted some time away from people. The tree house seemed perfect."

"_Deer stand_. And ya oughta have asked me."

"I will next time. It'll be easier now that I know I won't be…interrupting anything."

"Bullshit. Ya wouldn't have been interruptin' nothin'—"

"Fer damn sure," Merle cut in with a broad grin.

"Fuck you," Daryl said, pointing at Merle. "I mean earlier ya knew damn good'n well that I was in the bar."

"Yeah. It was when I saw you that I remembered the tree house. So why aren't things working out between you and Sinclaire? I kind of like her."

"Don't give a shit what ya think of her. Get outta here."

"You know what? You're a—"

"Jerk," Daryl finished. "Ya already said that once today."

"I have?"

"Yeah. When I asked yer name."

"Oh. Well...since you're blushing I'll throw you a bone. It's-"

"I ain't blushin'. And I don't give a shit 'bout yer name. Only asked to pass the time."

"Uh-huh." She walked back toward camp. "It's Marie."

When she was out of sight, Merle watched as Daryl slid down the tree trunk until his head was on his knees.

"Ya really was blushin'. Think ya still are. Yer ears are all red."

"Suck it."

"I know yer hard up but…" Merle trailed off.

"What? Ya ain't gonna…" Daryl's own sentence died when he saw Merle staring through the trees. He stood up in shock. "Fuck. Never seen nothin' like that."

"I have," Merle said, remembering the highway with Sinclaire as he stared at the hundreds of Walkers shuffling their way. "Thinkin' it might be time to get the hell outta here, baby brother."


	44. Chapter 44

Note: If you only read my story for sex jokes and witty banter (because fuck yeah I'm witty) then…this is a little different. Just warnin' ya. Huh. Did not mean to type that in Merle's "voice" Anyway, read on.

Merle gave Daryl a push and they ran for the camp. Outrunning the herd wouldn't be an issue, but it wouldn't do any good unless they could get everyone to a safe place before the hoard caught up.

"Did you miss me?" Marie asked when Daryl snagged the back of her jacket as he passed her.

"Walkers," he said shortly. "Run."

"Walkers? You mean Biters?" she gasped as she tried to turn and stumbled.

Daryl hauled her up. "Yeah. Shit load of 'em. We gotta get somewhere safern' this."

"How many?" Marie asked, starting to shake.

"We didn't stop to count the zombies, sweetheart," Merle drawled. "Move that ass."

"I am!"

"Move it faster. Quit makin' my brother drag ya."

Marie pushed herself away from Daryl and they ran hell-for-leather into the camp.

"What's going on?" Carrie gasped when they barreled into the camp.

"Zombies!" Merle bellowed. "Herd of 'em!" With the camp alerted he turned to more important matters. "Where's Yank?"

"Herd?" Shane yelled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"This ain't the time to be questionin' me! Get people inside! Where's Sinclaire?"

"Right here," she said, appearing beside him and drawing both guns. "Like the highway?"

"Shit yeah."

The panic in the camp built to screams as Sinclaire thought of the best plan. A few minutes tops till the zombies found them. They were slow, but in a pack they'd be dangerous. Get everyone accounted for. Get them all together. Get to the bar, close it up. Lights out, no sound. Pray like hell.

Merle saw her take a deep breath.

"Everybody quiet!" she yelled at the top of her voice.

The camp fell silent.

"We've got about two minutes. That's longer than it sounds. I want a head count and I want it now! Who are we missing?"

"Where's Carl?" Lori and Rick asked each other at the same time.

"Oh my God!" Lori continued as she turned around, and scanned the camp frantically.

"Stay where you are!" Sinclaire ordered when it looked like she might go running off. "Who else?"

"Sophia," Carol said in a shaking voice.

"So we're missing both kids. Carol, Lori, Carrie, Tiff…where's Tiff?"

Merle glanced around suddenly and realized for the first time that she was gone.

"She said she was going to walk down the river a little bit," Carrie said. "T said he'd go with her."

"All right," Sinclaire tried for brisk even though her heart was sinking. "We're missing Sophia, Carl, Tiff, and T. Okay. Merle and I will look east, Daryl and Rick south, Nate and Shane north. Head west and get eaten. Everyone else get to the bar. Andrea, Dale, Glenn, you can shoot from the windows to cover us. Move, move, move!"

They moved.

"They can say what they like about ya, ya get shit done," Merle said almost absently as they headed for the river.

"We'll find her, Merle."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

They scanned the river's edge for tracks.

"Shit," he muttered. "They headed back toward the woods."

"You track?"

"Where ya think Daryl learned it from?" Merle lied. Daryl had taught him, but this was no time to start giving his brother credit.

"You've got your machete right?"

"Never leave home without it."

A scream pierced the air and Merle went still. Sinclaire did the opposite. She ran around the small bend to find a smaller part of the herd Merle had talked about. And Tiffany and T-dog, right in the middle of it.

Sinclaire leveled her gun at the one closest to Tiff and pulled the trigger. Her aim had improved and more Walkers fell with bullets in gray matter than ever before but it wasn't fast enough. They swarmed over T-dog and she saw teeth rip into his neck. Blood shot over the scene as he fell, which only livened up the zombies that much more. They crouched, snarling as they ripped flesh from his body as others gnawed right from the source. Sinclaire did the only thing she could do. She put a bullet in his brain. At least that way, he wouldn't come back.

In her moment of distraction, a burly zombie grabbed one of Tiff's flailing arms and sank its teeth in. She screamed again as she tried to push it away.

Merle pushed past Sinclaire, and into the fray where he grabbed Tiffany. Sinclaire wouldn't have been able to keep him covered if so many of the herd hadn't been busy with their fresh meal. He only had one hand, and since he was using it to hold Tiff up, he was defenseless. He yanked her forward as she tried to cover her ragged bite with her opposite hand.

"Let's go," Sinclaire yelled. "Back to the bar, come on!" It was pointless and they all knew it, but it wasn't like she was going to cap her in front of Merle.

"What about T?" she shrieked. "We can't just leave him like this!"

"Move!" Sinclaire ordered. She didn't want to leave T like a late night snack either, but there wasn't anything she could do.

Merle pulled Tiff away roughly. Sinclaire could hear her harsh sobs as they ran, but they were soon drowned out as they reached the camp.

It was a zombie swarm.

"Fuck!" Merle bellowed.

Sinclaire's ears rang with the sounds of Shane's and Nate's rifles, and the shots of the group on the porch. She didn't see Rick or Daryl, but Shane and Nate were back-to-back, with Sophia and Carl between them.

Sinclaire hung back to help add to the path Glenn and Andrea were trying to clear for them to get the kids to the porch. It slowly, but surely started to work and she saw Shane glance around.

"Go now!" he yelled at Nate.

Nate snatched Sophia up and ran for the porch. Sinclaire dropped the zombie that reached for Sophia's leg and in split seconds Nate was safe on the porch. Soon he added his gun to the cover from the porch.

More Walkers poured in from the woods. Tiffany passed out, rendering Merle totally defenseless. Sinclaire put her back to his. Not many zombies were bothering with them, but a few had shambled their way and been shot for their troubles.

"We've gotta get moving," she said. "We won't stand a chance out here."

"Yeah." Merle looked around. "What about the truck if we can't make the porch?"

"We can try—" Sinclaire began.

There was a sudden scream from the porch.

"No! Shane!"

It was Lori. She was framed in the doorway; Dale was holding her back. Sinclaire's gaze found Shane again. A Walker had him by the leg. Blood was already pooling at his boots as he shattered its skull with his rifle.

He looked up at the porch and then down at Carl. Sinclaire's estimation of Shane went up several notches when he shoved the kid in front of him and made a run for the porch, knocking zombies out of the way with the butt of his, obviously spent, rifle. Zombies tore at his clothes and his skin, but Carl was untouched when Shane pushed him up the steps and stepped back into the hoard.

"Shane!" Lori screamed again. "Please! Not like this!" She turned to the shooters on the porch. "Do something!"

Sinclaire saw a crossbow bolt lodge in the eye socket of one of the zombies about to take yet another bite of Shane.

"Daryl!" Merle yelled.

"Yeah!" Daryl yelled back. "Got Sinclaire?"

"Course I do!"

"Then get yer ass up here! We'll clear it out for ya."

With the focused fire of Nate, Andrea, Dale, Glenn, and Carl from the porch and Rick and Daryl from the side, they all made it to the porch after all. Sinclaire heard Lori sob with relief when Rick stopped for Shane, who tried to push him off and was kicked in the knee by Daryl because they didn't have time for arguments.

"Get movin'," Daryl snapped. "Ain't gettin' eaten for yer sorry ass."

They secured the porch and headed in to the kitchen. Sinclaire watched Rick prop Shane against the doorframe in a sitting position. Lori dropped to her knees beside him. Reverend Fletchley and Marie were near the door too; she was trembling. Sinclaire thought he might be praying. Carol and Sophia were locked in an embrace just inside the door. Carl, sheet pale and obviously feeling guilty, ran into his room. Merle sat down with Tiff's head in his lap. Her blood had coiled like red ribbon over his arms. Sinclaire thought absently that it looked like those braces archers wore on their arms, except brighter.

"Ya all right?" Daryl asked from behind her.

Sinclaire didn't bother to answer.

"Is she…" Daryl trailed off when he saw Tiff's arm. "Fuck."

"I know. Shane too. Maybe others. No one has checked. We need to check. Nate. Rick. Even me. Even you. The kids. Merle."

"Yer shakin'."

"No I'm not."

"Ya are."

Daryl pulled her against him but she couldn't focus on anything but the look on Merle's face. He was running bloody fingers through Tiff's hair almost absently as he looked into her pale face. Maybe all her blood was in his hands.

"Sinclaire?"

"Bowhunter?"

His voice was so far away. She didn't understand how his voice could be so far away when his skin was right against hers. She looked down at his arms. There was blood there. His? Hers? Zombie's?

"Sinclaire!" he repeated more emphatically.

If he wanted to talk to her, why didn't he come closer? Her head felt heavy and her ears were suddenly filled with a gray sound. His hands were painfully tight on her arms. It felt like steel. It didn't matter for a few moments, but the haze lifted when he shook her and yelled her name again.

"I'm fine." She shrugged out of his grip. "Just light headed."

"We'll wait and see!" Lori's voice, tinged with hysteria, cut through all the extraneous conversation in the bar kitchen. "We don't know that you'll get sick!"

"Sick?" Shane asked with a half laugh. "I'm gonna _die_, Lori. And I'm gonna come back as one of those things if you don't put me down."

"Don't talk like you're a dog! We aren't going to do that! No one here would do that!"

Her wild, wide eyes scanned the group as if for confirmation. Gazes slid from hers.

"You're not saying you'd let them do this?" she asked Rick as her hand fell to the curve of her belly. "Rick. Rick, you can't let this happen! You can't let them…not…you can't do this! You can't…you can't…" she couldn't seem to catch her breath.

Sinclaire stepped forward and slapped her as hard as she could. The sound seemed to bounce interminably off the reinforced walls and windows.

"Don't be so goddamn blind. It's up to Shane. If he wants to wait and see then that's fine. Someone can sit with him and if he turns…then you know what we'll have to do. If he doesn't…"

"I'll turn," he said flatly. "I always said that if I got bit I'd end it before I'd put you in danger." One fingertip traced Lori's cheek.

"Not like this," she whispered.

It was as if they'd forgotten anyone else was there. She laid his hand on her stomach beside hers. He met her eyes. She nodded. Rick stood and walked out as Lori lowered her head, pressing her forehead against Shane's. Sinclaire knew she should leave too, but she couldn't seem to manage it. No one else could either for that matter.

"You saved my son," she whispered.

"I've always loved you. Always. You've got to know that, Lori."

She began to cry.

"Just give me some time. Just some time. Just till the fever comes."

"Shhh, baby," he raised one hand and cupped the back of her head. "Shhh, shhh, shhh, all right. All right, we'll wait and see."

Lori sobbed with relief as she pressed her lips to his.

"I'm so sorry, Shane. I'm so, so sorry."

Lori crawled into his lap, heedless of his injuries, but he didn't look like he cared. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. Even though he was dying, Sinclaire thought that this might be the first time she'd ever seen Shane Walsh happy.

For a long while there was nothing but the sound of zombies milling around outside the bar. Sinclaire and Daryl sat down beside Merle.

"Reckon she's just in shock," Merle said roughly after a long silence. "Bleedin's too slow for her to be bleedin' out."

Sinclaire put two fingers to Tiff's wrist.

"Pulse is basically steady."

"Fer all the good it's gonna do her."

Sinclaire hadn't heard Merle's voice sound that dead since he'd been coming off the good shit.

"What do I do?" he asked. "We all know ain't no goddamn reason to wait it out."

"She might have last words or…some kind of prayer she wants said…" Daryl said. "We oughta wait and ask her."

Merle nodded silently and went back to twisting her hair around his fingers. Sinclaire watched his chest rise and fall and counted his breaths to keep the gray haze from filling her brain again. His breathing was so shallow that sometimes she felt like he'd forgotten, but then his dog tags caught the low light again.

She reloaded her pistols, the sharp sounds making everyone jump. Tiff's eyes opened and met Merle's.

"Hey there sweetheart," he said.

Her eyes filled with tears. "It hurts. Burns like acid. I…I've been bitten. Are you going to shoot me?"

"They're lettin' Walsh wait it out," Merle answered. "Wanna do the same thing?"

"Wait it out?" she looked confused. "Until he turns into one of those things?"

"So far just till the fever hits." Merle untangled his fingers from her hair. "What about you?"

"I don't know…are you really asking me how I want to die?" The tears spilled down. "I'm not even…ready to go. My mama always told me I'd burn in hell for being a whore. I don't want to go to hell, Merle!" She covered her face with her hands and cried harder. "I don't want to die!"

Daryl stood up and was back in a few minutes with Fletchley.

"Got ya a convert," he said.

Tiffany allowed Merle to help her sit up and she held shaking hands out when Reverend Fletchley held his out to her. Their hands clasped; hers shaking with pain and fear, his as level and soothing as the voice he began to pray in.

"Lord, I bring before you today one of your lost children. Tiffany…"

"Maxwell," she said, shy in the presence of the Lord.

"Tiffany Maxwell. Now Lord, she is hurting and she is scared, and she comes as all your children will at an hour of great need. She wants to feel your presence in her life and, if you see fit, your healing hand upon her."

Sinclaire glanced at Merle as the prayer went on. He braced Tiff with no visible effort, but he was obviously disconcerted. She saw Carol, Sophia, Carrie, Andrea, and to her surprise, Daryl, bow their heads though. She ducked her own and added her prayers to Fletchley's.

_"Please don't make me the executioner."_


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes to the people: Brazen Hussy: I developed a crush on Shane somehow without knowing it in Season Two and I am very sad about what I just did to him. Also, is it just me or was it crazy how f-ing sexy he was when Rick was imagining him in Woodbury? Because for a second I was like, "Dixon brothers? I recall no Dixon brothers. Bring the cuffs Officer Walsh. I've got plans." Limaro: I hereby bequeath Rick to you for all the comfort he can handle. I know you're the person for the job! Everyone else who reads and comments: you are wonderful people and your comments make me so happy and motivated to finish the story!**

Quiet had settled over the bar. Sinclaire could hear Shane's breathing getting harsher. He was hurt much worse than Tiffany. His arms were still around Lori, but his hands were clenched so hard that fresh blood had gathered in his palms.

"There's morphine in the truck," Sinclaire said when his head fell back against the wall, the muscles in his neck tense with the pain.

"Won't that knock us out?" Tiff asked. "I don't want to sleep it all away."

"Not a half dose," Nate said. "I can go—"

"Into a herd of Walkers for medicine?" Shane asked tightly. "Don't be a fucking moron. You don't hear them out there?"

"We all hear 'em," Daryl snapped.

"Don't yell at him!" Lori snapped back.

Daryl's mouth opened but a look from Sinclaire made him press his lips together. The tension in the room was high enough without anyone starting a fight. She heard Tiff whimper in pain. The bite on her arm had turned the skin around it so purple it was nearly black, with what looked like venom spreading up her veins. Merle caught Sinclaire's gaze.

"I could go with Nate," she said.

Merle didn't answer. He looked from her to Tiff who was biting her lip as tears slipped down her cheeks. Sinclaire moved to stand up. Merle grabbed her jacket.

"No."

"Merle…"

"Said no."

The zombie noises got louder and there was a sound of nails on wood.

"We should have guards on the porches," Glenn said.

Nate nodded and followed him out. Dale and Andrea went to the front porch. Daryl stood up, walked halfway to the porch, then came back, and just sort of shifted from doorway to doorway. Carrie came to sit in the spot he'd left vacant.

"I'm so sorry, Tiff," she said, rubbing Tiffany's back comfortingly. "I don't know what to say."

"Not much to say about it," Tiff answered. "We're all on borrowed time. I was the idiot who went for a walk."

"But," Carrie sniffled. "We've always been together. Ever since the refugee center…you were the only one who was nice to me."

"I was terrified," Tiff said. "You were the only person who seemed more scared than me."

They shared a watery smile and Sinclaire stood up. She and Tiff hadn't been close, even with the sex talk. It was probably better to leave her with the people she'd been closest to. Maybe she could pace with Bowhunter.

"Seems like there oughta be somethin' we could _do_," he said when she approached.

"I guess we could be happy that the construction is holding up."

He only shrugged. She didn't bother to go on; she knew that he would give a lot to be able to get his hands on some zombies right now. She would too. Anything would be better than this. Quiet sobbing from several corners of the bar, muted zombie snarls, the memory of seeing T-dog fall, the reality of Shane dying to give Lori back her son…she felt the familiar vice grip of a headache at her temples and she reached automatically for medicine that was no longer there.

"What ya lookin' for?"

"Nothing. It's just a headache. I don't have any more medicine for it."

"Come here."

He sat down beside the pool table in a dark corner and pulled her back against his chest, the same way Merle had that morning. She couldn't believe it had been less than a day.

"Where's it hurt?"

She raised her hand to her right temple and his fingers brushed hers away. She closed her eyes as he began rubbing the ache away. It wouldn't stop the headache, but it might dull it so that she would still be good for something without her medication.

"Better?"

"If I say yes will you stop?"

"Not till ya ask me to."

"Then yes."

"Ya could relax a little bit. Yer like a board. Ain't gonna make yer head feel better to keep yer shoulders so tight."

She knew he was right so she took a deep breath and forced her body to conform to his.

"There ya go."

"Thanks," she said when the pain had scaled back from a 7 to a more reasonable 4.5.

"Sure."

"It was like that right before the Governor found us," Marie said softly.

"A whole pack?" Daryl asked.

"Yes. But it was a long time ago. I was in Woodbury last summer."

"Yeah. Closer to the beginnin' there were more," Daryl answered. "I remember how it was where me and Merle lived…the streets was full of 'em. Thought we'd never get outta there."

"We thought the Governor came to save us." Marie clenched her hands and seemed to shake off the memory. "I'm glad you didn't get hurt."

Sinclaire felt Daryl start in surprise.

"Figured ya woulda liked it better if I hadn't come back."

"I think you're a jerk. That doesn't mean I want you dead. You were really brave. I mean, everyone was. Not me. But you," she gestured to both of them. "And Merle and Nate and Shane and Rick. I don't really know how to do any of that."

"Yeah well…" he trailed off. "Ya oughta get somebody to teach ya."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure. I'll ask _somebody_ then. Sinclaire?"

"Shooting isn't my strongest suit."

"It looked pretty strong to me."

"Nah, Yank's all right, but she ain't as good as me," Daryl gave her a slight smile. "She could take anybody here in hand to hand combat though."

"Really?"

"Yep," she confirmed. "I can teach you that. But Bowhunter will have to teach you to shoot."

"Shit," he drawled. "Why should I? Never know where she might start aimin'."

A smile flashed over Marie's face for a split second.

"You're smarter than you look," she said as she stood up.

"Don't know how to take that," he muttered when she walked out.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Sinclaire answered abstractedly. "You really are smarter than you look."

"I look stupid or somethin'?" Daryl rubbed his chin as if "looking stupid" was something that could be wiped off.

"No." She didn't reassure him further, but she reached up and back to pull him closer. She'd never craved physical comfort before, but it felt damn good now to have someone safe and solid against her right now.

He must have felt the same because his arms tightened around her waist and he leaned forward to press his face against the side of her neck as he said, "They really did come outta fuckin' nowhere."

"Faster than you'd think they could for such a large group."

"Yeah. Yeah, Merle said ya'll had seen something like it before."

"On the road. We managed to make it to the box truck before they got close. I thought it was a one time aberration. Apparently it's not."

"Wonder what makes 'em do it? Do they know they're stronger in packs?"

Sinclaire shrugged and turned her head slightly to look at him. The light was low, but she could see that he was pale and she could feel that he wasn't any more relaxed than she had been. They could hear Lori anxiously asking Shane how he was feeling and she recognized the stretched quality in his voice when he lied and said he wasn't hurting any worse than he had been.

"Wish I could get my hands on that damn morphine," Daryl said. "Feel so fuckin' useless just sittin' here."

"I have the morphine."

They both looked up at Rick, who stood near the door.

"You asked me to keep it, remember?"

"It's in here?" Sinclaire asked in shock. It had been so long since she'd worried about the box, she'd forgotten asking Rick to take charge of it.

"Yeah."

Rick disappeared back into his own room and came back with a familiar red box which he tossed to Sinclaire before heading out onto the porch with Nate.

"No sense makin' 'em wait," Daryl said as she checked the contents.

"No. I'm not. I just wondered how much we had."

"Enough to put 'em out," he answered as he stood and pulled her to her feet. "That's what you're worried about ain't it?"

She didn't answer as she walked back into the kitchen. A glance told her that, besides being in more pain than he wanted to admit, Shane was already feverish and headed toward being delirious. He was holding Lori in a tight grip as he launched into a steady stream of words that didn't really make any sense between groans of pain. Half in the past and half in present, either way, Shane was dying sooner rather than later. Sinclaire decided that what Lori wanted didn't really matter anymore. If she was feeling like that, she'd want the pain gone. She knelt beside him and pushed up what was left of his sleeve.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "Don't trust you. Never did."

"I know," Sinclaire answered. "The feeling is mutual. Just a little something for the pain." She ripped a strip of his sleeve off to make a tourniquet and then smacked his arm a few times as she slid the box to Merle and Tiff. It wasn't like he wouldn't know how to do it. She saw Shane relax several moments after the injection and she drew in a deep breath of relief.

The hours passed interminably after that. Tiff was drowsing in Merle's arms even with the half dose he'd given her. Shane had become so feverish and delirious that Sinclaire had finally doubled his dose and knocked him out. He slept uneasily now, muttering occasionally about Walkers.

The sounds of the zombies were starting to ebb as the herd wandered slowly away. Carol and Sophia had gone to their room when Sinclaire had upped Shane's dose of morphine. Reverend Fletchley and Marie were sitting near the pool table. Rick hadn't come in from the porch yet, but Glenn had taken Carrie back to their room when she'd begun to cry harder than she wanted Tiff to see.

Suddenly Lori gasped harshly.

"Shane?"

His rough breathing had stopped. Lori got to her knees and shook him.

"Shane!"

Sinclaire hated that there was no room for grief. Dead, he was more of a threat than he'd ever been alive. She was dismayed to find everyone looking at her.

"Lori," she said. "You've said your goodbyes. You need to let us-"

"_I've said my goodbyes_?" Lori stood to face Sinclaire. "What the hell would you know about how it feels to say goodbye? You're the coldest woman I've ever met and if you think I'm going to let you be the one to—"

"Shut up."

The voice that came to her defense wasn't particularly loud, but it brought a new definition to "cold."

"Get outta here and let us do what needs to be done," Merle continued in a drawl that brooked no argument. "Ya had yer chance and now yer done."

Lori whirled around and went to her room, her hands over her face as she sobbed. Sinclaire stepped up and grabbed Shane's arms. Daryl helped her move him out to the rarely used front porch. Dale and Andrea stepped back inside when they laid his body out. Sinclaire swallowed hard as she pulled the gun from her vest pocket. Her hands were steady, so that couldn't have been the problem. It must have been the look on her face. Before she could pull the trigger Bowhunter stepped up beside her.

"I got it," he said as he turned her away from Shane's body.

She heard the sharp 'twang' of the crossbow and the dull squish as bolt met brain matter. At least that much was over.

"Merle?" Tiff asked.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to wait to die."

"What?"

"I'd rather just do it now. It…Shane…it sounded so painful."

"He was hurt worse'n ya was though."

"It's hurting worse. And I can hear the zombies. Like the ones he kept talking about when he was asleep. They're in my head and I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore. I just want to go."

"What the hell ya think I'm gonna do? Fuckin' shoot ya right here?"

"No. Just give me the rest of that morphine shot and…" her voice broke and she took a breath to steady it. "Do it when I'm asleep."

"Yer sure?"

"Yeah. That's what I want."

He picked up the needle and plunged the rest of the medicine into her arm. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.

"Hey Merle?" she said sleepily after several minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Wanted to tell you something."

"Now's the time."

"You were a real jackass sometimes."

"Yeah."

"But then sometimes you weren't. And…I liked those times. Liked being with you."

"I liked that shit too."

She half-laughed.

"You just don't know how to be romantic do you?"

"Callin' me a jackass wasn't the most romantic thing ya coulda done yerself."

When she didn't answer, Merle realized that those had been her last words. She was asleep. He moved her from his lap onto the floor and tried to figure out what to do. Every breath she took told him that this was wrong, that this was murder, but logic screamed at him to take the opportunity. It wasn't fair to make her suffer.

"Merle?"

"Yank." He hadn't wanted to sound so relieved. It pissed him off. "She wanted…she asked me to kill her."

Sinclaire knelt in front of him.

"Get somebody else to do it."

"No. No she asked me and I will."

"That's crazy! You shouldn't have to—"

"And who the fuck would I ask? You?"

"Merle, come on. If you need me to then I will. Just don't…don't do this."

"Do what? What I gotta do?" He stood up, leaving her where she knelt, and stomped over to Daryl. He picked up the crossbow and shoved it hard into his brother's chest. "Fix it. I ain't usin' no damn gun."

Daryl cocked the crossbow silently and handed it back to Merle. When Merle walked back into the kitchen he realized he couldn't carry the bow and Tiff at the same time. He snarled several choice words, but before he could turn around Sinclaire and Daryl had lifted Tiffany up and begun carrying her out.

They laid her beside Shane, who had been covered with a spare blanket, Merle noticed.

"Don't need a goddamn audience," he barked.

"Ya sure ya don't want me to—" Daryl began.

"Only thing I was is for ya to get the fuck back in that bar right this fuckin' second or I'll personally beat the shit outta ya here and now."

Daryl flinched at the venom in Merle's words and silently led Sinclaire back inside. The next twang of the crossbow seemed to lodge somewhere in the pit of Sinclaire's stomach. She sat down on the kitchen floor and waited, but Merle didn't come back. Daryl put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe she could just close her eyes for a second and wake up to find that this was a dream and the day hadn't started yet.

"They're moving on," Nate announced much later, waking Sinclaire from her uneasy nap. She rubbed her neck and squinted up at him.

"What time is it?"

"The sun is coming up," he answered. "There's only a few wounded left from what I saw when I went out."

"Ya went out?" Daryl asked incredulously.

"Recon _is_ my job," Nate said without conceit. "I think the bulk of the herd is far enough away to not be a threat. But there is a lot of cleanup out there."

Sinclaire sighed and rubbed her eyes. All she'd wanted to do was sleep until life was good again. It didn't seem like too much to ask.

"Where's Merle?" she asked.

"Hell I don't know," Daryl answered grumpily. "I was asleep too."

She walked down the hallway and looked in her old room, but he wasn't there. He wasn't in the bathroom either. Or the kitchen, or any of the other bedrooms. Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears as she went out to the porch. She sighed in relief when she found him sitting in one of the chairs they'd dragged out for watch.

"Merle?"

"Yeah?"

"It's morning."

"I got eyes."

"I know. I just…Nate said that it's pretty much clear now."

"Good."

"Are you going to come out?"

"What the fuck ya want me out there for?" he snapped.

"I just…never mind. I'll go by myself." She figured that would motivate him and it did. With a silent snarl, Merle stood up and walked out with her.

It didn't take long to clear up what was left of the zombies, but it seemed to take forever to clean them up and burn them. Dale and Andrea kept watch while Sinclaire, Merle, Nate, Glenn, and Rick did the clean up. Sinclaire tried to help Merle as much as possible, but he swore at her every time she tried to lend a hand and in the end, Daryl pulled her away to help him instead.

"He ain't gonna be no good to nobody right now," he said in a low voice. "Better to just leave him alone."

She knew he was right, but it hurt to see Merle act the way he was acting. She hadn't expected him to joke around with her, but she hadn't expected him to push her away either. She planned to talk to him as soon as the work was done. No matter what Bowhunter might say, she was sure she could help him.

The sun was headed west by the time they started digging the graves and Sinclaire's back was already killing her. She saw Bowhunter wipe the back of his hand over his forehead, which really only smeared dirt through the sweat, before he plunged the shovel into the dirt on the outskirts of the woods where they'd planned to have the burial.

"We better hurry up if we wanna get it done before dark," he said.

She nodded and copied his movements. She wasn't sure how she'd been elected gravedigger, but it was better than some things. She looked around for Merle and found him starting another fire to cremate the last of the zombies.

He'd worked twice as hard as everyone else that day and not just because he only had half as many hands. She had the feeling that he was trying to exhaust himself. It looked to her like he had succeeded. His shoulders were slumped and he'd tossed his jacket onto the porch in spite of the cold. It was all she could do to keep from making him put it back on. The last thing they needed was for him to get sick.

"Deep enough," Daryl said later as red gold light fell dying through the trees. "We gotta get this done."

"Sounds good to me."

The graves weren't the standard 6 feet, but it wasn't like they were professionals. They went to round people up. Reverend Fletchley conducted the ceremony briefly. He hadn't really had time to get to know Shane or Tiff, or T, who didn't even get a grave. When he asked, no one had anything to add, even though a few people glanced at Merle and Lori as if they should. Merle responded by walking away. Sinclaire followed him.

"Merle?"

"The fuck ya want now?" he asked shortly.

"I want to talk to you. I wondered if—"

"Got nothin' to say right now. Ya ain't gotta wonder nothin'. When I wanna talk to ya I'll fuckin' find ya. How about that?"

Sinclaire pushed her hands through her hair in frustration as he stomped into the bar. Then she noticed how dirty she was. Dragging dead bodies could do that to a person. The grave digging hadn't helped. She forced herself to think of other things. Not the dirt hitting the covered of forms of Shane and Tiff. Not the blank silence that had followed Amos' request for someone to say a few words.

She'd seen her share of death since this whole thing started, but she hadn't been to a funeral since her father died. If this one had been the traditional thick carpeted, black sea of formal wear she'd be headed for a panic attack right about now.

"What are you doing?" she asked Carol as the woman struggled past with a full bucket of water.

"I heated enough water for everyone to clean up," Carol explained. "You've been so busy all day…I thought it was the least I could do."

"Thank you," Sinclaire said in surprise. "I was just thinking about that."

Carol smiled at her and Sinclaire helped carry the bucket up the steps. As the guys washed up Sinclaire hung around, trying to help Carol and Sophia with dinner. With Daryl taking a bath, Merle not speaking to her, and Rick not speaking to anyone, she didn't have any other friendship options. She made a mental note to try harder with the rest of the group as she washed her hands and set plates out on the bar.

Dinner was silent and only attended because skipping a meal in an apocalypse was dumb. No one really felt like eating. Merle ate like he was mad at the food and then disappeared back into the room he'd shared with Tiffany. Sinclaire had to force herself to swallow every bite. Daryl kept casting worried glances in the direction of his brothers room and pretty much everyone looked tired enough to fall into their plates.

"I'm going to clean up," Sinclaire said. "Just a warning to all who might venture out onto the back porch."

As she took her short, cold now, bath, she forced herself to think of more ideas that might make Merle feel better. Maybe she could offer to move back in. Maybe he just needed someone to distract him. Maybe she could start reading Iron House out loud again. Or maybe another of those westerns he'd liked so much. He'd said she could be the Everett Hitch to his Virgil Cole.

"Why do you get to be Virgil?" she remembered asking.

"Cause I'm more important than ya are," he'd answered. "And ya know all them big words, and Hitch was supposed to have been to West Point. Just makes sense Yank."

It did make sense now that she thought about it. And it could have been worse. He could have compared her to Allie French, who Virgil picked up from the brothel. She dried off and dressed quickly and walked into the bar.

"Where ya headed?" Bowhunter asked when she went by him.

"I thought I'd check on Merle."

"Don't think that's a good idea," he answered, but she was already halfway down the hall.

"Merle?" she asked. He didn't answer. "Merle?"

Still nothing, so she stepped inside. The red box was beside the bed and several vials were missing from it. She could guess where they were. He was already more than half out.

"Merle!"

"The fuck ya want?" he drawled sleepily.

She snapped the box closed and swatted his hand away when he reached for it.

"The hell Yank?"

"You don't need this!"

"Sure I do. Got no sympathy fer a broken heart?"

The twist of his lips seasoned the words with enough irony to sting her throat.

"You…how much did you even take?"

"Can't count? Thought ya were a big, important Army Captain. Ya outrank me and ya can't even count."

"I can count. I'm just trying to keep you awake and talking to me so I know you aren't going to O.D. and die!"

"Ain't gonne die. No matter who else does. Not me. Anyway, got a high tolerance. Just wanna go to sleep."

She was furious, but she only said, "Do you need me to stay?"

"Stay?" he repeated. "Yeah, that might be good. In fact, why don't ya cuddle up to me like ya do my baby brother? Help me get to sleep like a good girl? What've I gotta do to get ya to treat me like ya treat him? Or maybe a little better."

"Fuck you Merle."

"That's what I'm sayin'."

When he reached for her she stood up. She knew the dose wasn't high enough to be fatal. She also knew that if she stayed in that room the lump of anger in her throat would dissolve into tears.

"Where ya headed sweetheart? Don't wanna stay around and make me feel all better?"

She didn't bother to answer.

"What'd he say?" Daryl asked when he saw Sinclaire come down the hall. Her eyes were bright with anger and her hands were clenched into tight fists.

"Not much," she snapped before shoving the morphine box at Glenn. "Put this somewhere."

Daryl's eyes moved from the box to Sinclaire. She saw his shoulders slump when the pieces slid together.

"I'm going to the truck," she said. "You coming with me or not?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I guess. Unless ya think he might need—"

"The only thing he needs to do is sober up," she bit out. "He didn't take enough to kill himself, just enough to sleep. Jackass. Motherfucker. Asshole."

"His girlfriend did just die," Daryl pointed out with a slight edge in his voice.

"It's shit like that," Sinclaire said. "Excuses. You make excuses for him."

"I do not!"

"You do!"

She yanked up the truck door and then slammed it behind them.

"It mighta been more serious than we thought," Daryl began.

"She didn't even love him!"

"How do you know that?"

"I asked. She came out here to tell me to fuck you and I asked her and she said she didn't."

"Really?"

"Yes really," Sinclaire said sarcastically. "Why would I lie about that?"

"Hell I don't know!" he rubbed his hand over his forehead again in a defeated gesture. "It's been a bad day."

She realized she was being unfair. She could see how unhappy he looked in the light of the small flashlight she'd turned on and propped up, candle style, so they could see to get ready for bed.

"I'm sorry Bowhunter," she said with a sigh. "It's just…I'm worried about him. About all of us. It's been so long since anyone died…"

"I know. Was startin' to think it was over."

She knew that he mean more than just zombies. This was the longest sober stretch that Merle had had in years and he'd just ruined it. Or was it her fault for leaving the box unattended?

"Scared I was gonna lose ya in the herd."

Daryl appeared to be talking to his bootlaces, but she knew the comment was meant for her. She remembered Tiff's words. Not the order to "Fuck Daryl," but the other part, "We're all dying." It was true. She could have died just as easily as Shane. So could Bowhunter. Being skilled didn't make a person invincible. She got to her knees in front of him.

"We're alive."

"I know. Kinda hard to believe."

"Let's make it count then. I'm tired of living in the past."

He scanned her face seriously, as if he was trying to figure out if she was really talking about what he thought she was talking about.

"The flashlight has to stay on," she said. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah. I can live with that."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.


	46. Chapter 46

A very brief note: TRUST ME. That is all.

She buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him back. It took a few more kisses before she got near the place she'd been in the "deer stand" but it didn't actually take as long as she'd thought it might. Panic receded and when his hands moved to her jacket she let him pull it off. Practice had made undressing each other, if not perfect, at least not as awkward.

"You don't think this is selfish do you?" she asked as he unhooked her bra and dipped his head to kiss her neck.

"Nah," he answered as he pulled her closer. "Why would it be?"

"I don't know. I just thought…" her sentence trailed off and her head fell back as they both discovered a particularly sensitive place in the hollow of her throat.

"Thought what?"

"I don't know. Stuff. Things. Forget it."

"Okay." His fingers skimmed down her stomach to the button of her fatigues.

Uncharted territory was apparently making him nervous. Or maybe he expected to hear 'pineapple' any minute and just didn't want to get his hopes up. To take the pressure off, she tugged his zipper down. It worked.

He cupped the back of her neck with one hand to pull her in for another kiss as he flicked the button open with his other hand.

"You're good with your hands," she said.

"Hope so," he answered.

He pushed her pants down and she sat down so he could pull them off. She felt herself blush when his eyes moved up her body once she was naked. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothin'. Think ya might be a little nervous though."

"Hey, you're the one that's halfway across the truck."

"Guess ya got me there."

"Damn right."

He pushed her backward and moved over her.

"Aw, just like the first time we met," she said with a grin.

"Not exactly," he said dryly. "Seem to remember ya had more clothes than this."

"To be fair, so did you. Why do you still have pants on?"

"Hell, I don't know."

The situation was remedied a few seconds later and he resumed his position.

"Another thing," he said as if they'd never deviated from the subject. "If I'd have kissed ya back then ya'd have kicked my ass."

"Probably."

"Gotta say I like this better," he admitted just before her lips found his again.

The kiss drew out and deepened until she moaned against his mouth. He pulled back at the sound.

"Pineapple," he said between ragged breaths.

"Pineapple?" she questioned in shock. "Seriously?"

"What? No! Not…I'm not…I thought ya were…never mind."

"Yeah. Consider this the opposite of pineapple. Broccoli?"

"How's broccoli the opposite of pineapple? Never mind about that too. Let's both just quit sayin' pineapple."

"That's probably for the best."

He kissed her again and when she moved against him he actually thanked God for the first time in a long time.

"Bowhunter?"

_Not pineapple, not pineapple, not pineapple._ "Yeah?"

"Not pineapple. But go slow okay? I…it's been a while."

He nodded. He'd planned to kiss her again but she reached up and cupped his face in her hands. She needed to keep her eyes open. She needed to see him. It was a little fumble-y in the very beginning and that was okay, because it was so different from the last time it had happened. But then as he continued she bit her lip at the feeling of her body stretching to accommodate his. There was a moment of sharp panic.

"Hey," he said. "Ya okay?"

"I don't know." She could feel that her body had gone tense and that stressed her out even more. "I don't—"

"It's all right. I ain't gonna do anything till ya tell me yer okay."

His voice was different too. The accent for one thing, but for another, the tone in it: reassuring, amazed, even though he was trying not to show that part, concerned. There wasn't a trace of deception in his words. If he'd been confident it would have made her feel worse.

"Just give me a minute."

He nodded. She could see how tight the muscles in his arms and shoulders had gotten and she knew how hard it was for him to stay still. But he did, because she'd asked him to. She reached up and wrapped her arms around him.

"Okay. I'm okay."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

He brushed a kiss over her lips before he moved again.

"God _damn_," she heard him mutter.

"Good or bad?" she couldn't help asking.

"Better'n good," he answered. "What do ya think?"

"I'm not freaking out. So far so good."

The first thrust was too tentative for either of them to get much sensation. The second one was so deep that she couldn't help her whispered, "Ouch" The third showed promise and by the time she'd stopped counting he'd developed a rhythm.

She hadn't honestly expected much; she was after more of the personal growth aspect than sexual pleasure, which she considered an impossible goal. But as he moved over her she began to feel an extension of the desire that bolted through her when he kissed her.

"Huh," she whispered.

"What?" he asked as he stopped moving and pulled back to look at her.

"Nothing."

"Somethin'. Ya can tell me if I'm doin' it wrong."

"You're not. It's actually more right than I thought it was going to be."

"Yeah?"

"I think so."

Daryl thanked God for the second time that night. If he kept getting lucky he might turn into a religious man. He pulled her up and shifted them so that she was straddling him.

"What are you…oh. Wow."

Sinclaire caught her breath when his hand dipped between her legs. He lowered his lips to her neck again, adding to the stimulation, and she got up the courage to rock her hips over him just a little. Before she had time to wonder if it was good or bad, he'd muttered, "Fuck yeah," against her skin so it must have been all right. Experimentally, she moved a bit faster and heard him work to hold back a groan.

She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer for another kiss. Her legs were starting to tremble even though she wasn't working hard.

"Ya all right?"

"Don't stop," she gasped out.

In response he moved faster and she felt the tension gather. Just when she thought she couldn't take more she felt it break into fragments of pleasure that took her breath away.

With a nearly primal growl of frustrated pleasure, he pushed her backward and covered her body with his once more. She'd expected the sensation to end but it only heightened now that he had more freedom to move. His mouth covered hers, catching the sounds she hadn't realized she was making. The flashlight fell over, taking its comforting light into a corner of the truck, but she didn't really notice.

There was finally confidence in his movements, but now that she could answer it with the mental abandonment that came with body-wracking pleasure it didn't bother her. His mouth held hers captive as his body pushed hers beyond what she would have considered standard operating limits. She would have been wrong.

When she tightened her grip on his shoulders she could feel how tense he was. If he was holding off on the same kind of pleasure that he'd given her, then Bowhunter was a saint. She arched up to meet his next movement and felt the arm he'd put underneath her lower back clench tight so she did it again. He moved faster; she was vaguely aware that the top of her head met the back of the seat with every thrust, but it didn't hurt.

For just a second, he went still and then his body slammed deep into hers one last time as he gave another groan against the side of her neck. She felt him shiver as he tightened his grip on her so she wrapped her arms around him again.

It was a few moments before either of them felt up for any additional movement. Finally, he rolled over onto his back and they both lay sprawled out and breathing hard. She wanted to say something eloquent, but there was only one phrase that came to mind.

"God _damn_!"

He laughed in relief and pulled her against him to cover them both with the blankets. He wasn't cold, but he figured she would be. From the way she snuggled in, he was right.

"You're so warm," she murmured appreciatively.

"I don't see how ya ain't warm after that," he said as he kissed the side of her neck.

"I let you do most of the work," she said defensively. "It's the best way to learn."

"Yeah. Appreciate it, by the way."

"Damn right you do."

"And yer really okay?"

"I think so. It's weird. You know what happened to the last guy who tried to kiss me?"

"What?"

"I jammed my knee in his nuts. And I actually liked him."

"Good God. What'd ya do to the ones ya didn't like?"

"Well, they weren't trying to kiss me."

"Good point I reckon. So...why me?"

"I don't know. I'm comfortable with you. And you have...had...no idea what you're doing."

"Thanks," he said dryly. "So now that I know what I'm doin' yer done with me?"

"Oh I don't know," she said loftily. "It wasn't half bad."

"Shit. Ya liked it and ya might as well admit it."

"Not much gets past you does it?"

"Nope."

"Okay. It was way better than I expected."

"Damn."

"No, not because of you. Because of me."

"Ya gonna tell me what happened to ya?"

"No. I've had my share of talking about it and it didn't help."

"Yeah. But maybe ya been talkin' to the wrong people."

"I doubt it. They were trained professionals. Come on, let's talk about something else."

"Okay," Daryl agreed.

"So, how does it feel?" Sinclaire asked, making her voice serious to hold back the urge to laugh.

"How's what feel?"

"To finally be a man?"

"Suck it."

"I think you've had all the new experiences you can handle for the night."

"So...tomorrow night then? Hell, even in the mornin' would be all right with me."

"I'll see what I can do. Anyway, you can go to sleep now. I won't be pissed off." His voice had gone lower and rougher the longer they talked and he hadn't even put much heat into it when he's said "suck it" so she knew he was tired.

"I'm good," he lied. "Keep talkin'."

"Okay. I'll tell you all my deepest, darkest secrets then. Once when I..." That was all it took. Before she could finish the sentence he was asleep.

She eased back a little bit and put her hands behind her head. Her therapists would be so proud. She was actually pretty proud of herself. Bowhunter certainly had a lot to be proud of. If she hadn't known he was a virgin she wouldn't have believed it...at least not after the first five minutes. At least maybe now Merle would have something to be happy about. If he wasn't still high.

Sinclaire frowned. Why the hell was she even thinking about him right now? She was mad at him. All he'd had to do was come and talk to her and she'd be with him now and not his brother.

"Ew," she whispered when she realized how that had sounded, even in her own head. "That's...ew."

Resolutely, she forced herself to go to sleep. Much like Scarlett O'Hara, she'd deal with it in the morning.

"As God is my witness," she muttered under her breath. "You'll never get high on my watch again."


	47. Chapter 47

When Merle woke up, his head was killing him and his mouth was as dry as dust. He also had a feeling that something bad had happened and that was stupid because, hell, it was already a fucking apocalypse. What else could go wrong?

He reached out. Tiff wasn't there. Then it dawned on him. She was dead. Dead and buried and pretty damn unlikely to be layin' there beside him.

That wasn't the whole problem though. Something else nagged at him. He thought he had a fuzzy memory of Yank offering to stay with him. Maybe she was there and she could tell him what else he'd done. She usually didn't mind that.

"Yank?" he asked in a low voice.

Nothing. He forced his eyes open and looked across the room. The rest of the memory came back piece by piece. Well hell, no wonder she hadn't stuck around.

He sat up. Who else had he been an asshole to? Most of 'em didn't matter, but he thought he remembered...yeah. Daryl had come into his room while Yank was taking a bath. The memory of the conversation wasn't pleasant.

"The fuck ya want?" he'd asked when his brother had stepped into the room just barely giving him time to stuff the red box underneath his extra pair of jeans that were crumpled on the floor because Sinclaire hadn't thrown his laundry in with hers in a few weeks.

"Just wanted to check up on ya. Make sure yer all right."

"Fuckin' peachy. Get the hell out."

"No."

"Yeah."

"Goddamnit Merle! Talk to me!"

"About what?"

"The weather. What the hell do ya think?"

"Ya want me to talk about my feelin's with ya, baby brother?"

"If that's what ya need to do then yeah. Ya didn't have to do what ya did. Ya know I'd have done it for ya."

"Don't need yer help. Never have."

"Sometimes ya do and it's stupid to not admit it! I know what yer thinkin' and-"

"Ya ain't got no fuckin' clue what I'm thinkin'. If ya did ya wouldn't still be in here botherin' me when I want ya to get the fuck out!"

Daryl had glanced in the direction of the pile of clothes. Merle had glanced too; there was no sign of red, no way his brother could have known. Daryl sighed.

"Merle, I know it's hard but-"

"Ya don't know shit. How the hell would ya? Ya get some experience I don't know about in the last five or ten minutes?"

"This don't have nothin' to do with me. I'm tryin' to help-"

"And ya ain't never been real good at it. I ain't gonna say it again. Get the hell outta here."

"Fine." Daryl had turned around and then turned back. "Just...just don't...don't..."

"Ya got a point here?" Merle had drawled. "Or ya just gonna stand there and stutter?"

"Fuck you," Daryl had snarled before walking out.

Looking back on it now, Merle felt bad about the whole thing, but worse about that. Daryl had stuttered badly until about tenth grade and, until last night, Merle had never used it against him in a fight. They both knew it was their old man's fault. That bastard dying had cleared Daryl's stutter up pretty quick.

"Fuck," he muttered. Now he had to apologize to Yank _and_ Daryl.

His mood didn't improve when he realized how early in the morning it was. He was one of the only ones up.

"Move it," he barked at Nate, who slept in front of the sink. "Thirsty."

Nate sat up and gave him an unfriendly stare. "I've been on watch all night long. Do you think that, just possibly, you could have stepped around me?"

"No."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He felt pretty dizzy; if he'd tried to step over Nate he'd have been more likely to step on him. It would have bothered Nate more than it bothered him, but in the end the hassle wouldn't be worth it. Not with a headache like he knew he was going to have in a little while. He grabbed one of the water bottles sitting in the sink and walked out of the bar.

"Where are you headed?" Rick asked from the back porch.

Goddamnit, did everybody have something to say today? He didn't bother to answer; it wasn't any of Rick's business where he was going anyway. He thought he could probably condense his apologies down to one sentence each; it was easier that way. "Shouldn't have brought up yer stutterin'." Well, hell, he'd have to get Daryl alone for that one or he'd kill him. Maybe he could just leave it at "Shouldn't have said what I said" and trust Daryl to understand the rest. He wasn't a complete idiot after all; they were related. Although what the hell he was gonna say to Sinclaire was still beyond him.

"Yank," he started under his breath as he pulled the truck door open. "What the hell?" He finished in a significantly louder voice.

Sinclaire and Daryl broke apart quickly and she scrambled for the blanket. Fast, but not fast enough. In the past he'd thought that she had nice tits, even if they were too small. He could see now that he'd been wrong. She had perfect, fit-right-in-the-palm-of-your-hand tits. And she'd apparently just fucked his brother. Or she'd just been about to. Maybe nothing had happened yet. He looked at Daryl. Shit. They _had_ fucked.

"Merle," Sinclaire said. "I...you seem...um..."

"Goddamnit," he said emphatically before slamming the truck door as hard as he could.

"Well," Daryl said. "Good mornin' to ya too big brother."

"He's mad," Sinclaire said unnecessarily as she began pulling her pants on.

"He's always mad about somethin'," Daryl answered. "Not much we can do about it now is there?"

"Not unless you have a time machine you've never told me about."

"Hell, even if I did, I wouldn't go back and change the part where I finally get to have sex. Ya lookin' for this?" he tossed her bra over.

"Yes," she said distractedly. "Aren't you getting dressed?"

"Guess I might as well," Daryl said resignedly. "Plannin' to go talk to him?"

"I thought I would. Maybe now that he isn't..."

"Under the influence?"

"Yeah. Maybe he'll be more willing to talk."

"Good fuckin' luck."

"It's your optimism that makes you so attractive, you know that right?"

"Runs in the family. Have fun with my brother."  
>There was a hint of something in his voice that made her look twice at him as she pulled on her second layer.<p>

"Bowhunter?"

"Yeah?"

"Come with me," she said, chickening out at the last minute. How crazy was it to assume that he was jealous? Jealous of what anyway?

"Hell no. Heard all I wanted to hear from him last night."

"You talked to him last night?"

"Yeah. Why do ya think I told ya it wasn't a good idea?"

"Because you're anti-social?"

"It don't count as anti-social when it's yer own family yer avoidin'."

"So you're just mad at him?"

"I ain't "just" mad at him. I'm mad at him for a damn good reason and I ain't in the mood to put up with his shit. If ya wanna talk to him then talk to him. I ain't gonna stop ya."

"Okay. I will. You don't have to be so sensitive about it."

"I am not sensitive!" he said as he pulled his shirt on.

"You sound like it. And hey! You didn't say ain't!"

"What?"

"You said "I am not sensitive" not "I ain't sensitive" Does this mean that I'm a good influence?" She asked as she put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his neck.

"It means I'm serious about this shit. And, if I'd've known grammar was that fuckin' important I'd've stopped sayin' ain't a long damn time ago."

"Proper grammar is very important," she began. She was unable to finish the thought because his lips covered hers. "But I guess there are other skills to make up for it," she finished several long moments later.

"Damn right. See ya later."

"See you."

She shoved the truck door up and stepped out. Merle was nowhere in sight, but she saw Rick on the porch.

"Have you seen..." she began.

"That way," Rick answered pointing to the woods. "But I don't recommend following him."

"Oh it's fine," she answered lightly. "I'm used to it."

Rick looked concerned, but he didn't try to stop her. She walked into the woods quickly, hoping to catch up before Merle got too far away. Looking back on it, that was the only aspect that went in her favor.

"Merle!" she called when she saw a flash of his jacket through the trees. "Merle!" She called again when he didn't stop.

"Jesus Christ what the fuck could ya possibly want?" he snapped when she caught up.

"Are you mad at me about last night?"

"Yes!"

"Well I'm sorry, but I don't think it's fair to ask me to cuddle up with you when you're high!" she said emphatically.

"That ain't what I'm mad about," he yelled.

"Oh." She paused in confusion. "then what are you mad about?"

"None of yer damn business."

"It's obviously my business. You're mad _at me_!"

"I can be mad at ya all I fuckin' want! Don't mean I have to tell ya why."

"I will punch you."

"Ya will not."

"Try me."

"Seems like my brother's already tried ya."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ya gonna try and tell me ya weren't fuckin' Daryl just now?"

"I actually wasn't fucking him _just now_," she stressed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Ya know what I mean. Ya slept with my brother and ya might as well admit it!"

"I wasn't trying to hide it!"

"Yer goddamn right ya wasn't tryin' to hide it! What the hell's the matter with ya doin' shit like that in the middle of the day?"

"It's 6 in the morning! And what about you? I walked in on you and Tiff-" She cut herself off a few words too late. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought her up. Just forget I said anything."

"I ain't gonna forget ya said anything neither! Ya dig a grave fer my...my...Tiffany and then ya walk off and fuck my brother the same night? What the hell's wrong with ya?"

"You've been practically throwing your brother at me!"

"Not last night I wasn't!"

"What do you want from me?" she yelled in frustration.

"Nothin'! I don't want a damn thing from ya. Guess it's too fuckin' much to ask fer ya to just not fuck my brother fer one damn night!"

"There are a lot of nights that I don't fuck your brother!"

"Well why not last night?"

"Because you were high! Because you were a dick like you always are when you're high!"

"I had a rough day!" Merle shouted at the top of his voice.

"We all did! You think it was easy for any of us to watch them die?"

"Ya weren't sleepin' with none of 'em!"

"But you were!"

"An ya cared so much ya went and fucked my brother!"

"There is no point in arguing with you! You're...you're...fuck you Merle Dixon!"

"Right after ya got out from underneath Daryl?" he called at her retreating form. "Even I got higher standards than that."

Sinclaire didn't respond, but for the second time in less than 24 hours tears burned in her throat. That was entirely too much almost-crying for her tastes. She had to find something to do. She'd never missed her punching bag more than she did in that moment.

"Hi!" Marie said as she stomped back into camp. "Want to do some of that self defense stuff today?"

"It wouldn't be fair," Sinclaire snapped.

"Oh come on! I can handle myself just fine!"

"Not right now you couldn't."

"Turn out like I thought?" Daryl asked from the back of the truck where he was sitting with a can of fruit cocktail.

"Bite me Bowhunter."

He raised an eyebrow as she practically pushed him out of the truck and scrabbled through their stuff until she found the keys.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Library."

"And I guess I ain't goin'?"

"No. Nobody is going."

"Ya can't go by yerself," he said firmly.

The only thing she could come up with was, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered. "That'd be stupid considerin' what we just been through here. I know my brother's an asshole, but it ain't worth killin' yerself over."

"What makes you think this is about Merle?"

"Ya just came back from talkin' to him. Ya look like yer gonna cry-"

"I don't cry!"

"I didn't say ya was. Said ya look like it. Calm down."

Sinclaire knew in the back of her mind that he was right. It didn't change anything.

"Fine. You can come with me," she said ungraciously. "But if you so much as mention your brother you won't be having any more sex."

"Cuttin' me off?"

"I don't mean just with me. I mean ever."

"How about if I just keep my mouth shut?"

"It may be for the best."

"Wait!" Marie called. "I want to go too."

Sinclaire growled but she allowed her into the truck. Why the hell not? It was going to be a long day anyway.


	48. Chapter 48

"Where the hell's Sinclaire?" Merle asked when he got back to the camp several hours later and saw that the box truck was gone.

"She and Daryl and Marie went to the library," Carrie answered.

"Fer what?"

"If I had to hazard a guess I'd say books," Glenn answered. "Just saying," he went on when Merle stared him down.

Merle snarled wordlessly and went into the bar. This was a pure shit day and the only thing he really wanted to do was sleep it away. He snagged one of the few remaining full bottles of Jack and broke it open on his way to his room.

He took a swig to try to swallow away a craving that he hadn't had in awhile. Nice white powder to make it not only easy to forget, but impossible to remember. He wouldn't have to feel like a failure for letting Tiff die; he wouldn't have to remember what he'd said to Yank this morning. Or Daryl last night. Nothing had bothered him this much in a long time, but knowing that they'd been together was killing him.

He wanted to put his fist through something but he didn't want to sleep with a hole in the wall that kept him outta Glenn's room. He wanted to fight with somebody, but people seemed to be staying the hell outta his way. Fuckin' pussies.

Why did he care? Yank was right. He had been throwing her at Daryl. They'd be good for each other. A good fuck never hurt anybody. And it must've been good because they'd been headed for round two when he'd opened that door.

He took another swig and shook away the mental picture of Sinclaire, naked as a jaybird, her face flushed, her tits making the palm of his hand itch and his mouth water. When the hell had she turned into somebody he wanted to fuck? Hell, he'd fucked Tiff three days ago; Yank shouldn't be making his cock ache like this. He growled low in throat and tried again to banish the image.

She was fucking his brother. She was fucking his brother. Merle knew he was a selfish bastard, and most of the time he was okay with it because...well, it meant he got what he wanted and who the hell else was going to give it to him? But he wasn't that far gone. He wasn't going to steal the first woman to ever let his brother hit a homerun. Even if he stood a chance of stealing her in the first place. Which he didn't.

And then there was Tiff to think about. He hadn't been in love with her, but he'd liked her. He understood her. She'd been comfortable and available and it was easy to pretend the world was still the same when she danced for him by the light of the flashlight when everyone else was asleep and finished her performance with a good old fashioned suck and fuck. Now she was dead. Dead less than 48 hours and he was already after fucking somebody else. Somebody he could not under any circumstances fuck. Because she was fucking his brother.

Merle smacked the back of his head against the partition hard enough to make his ears ring. Circular thinking was a bitch. No more. Yank was his friend. Daryl was his little brother. Daryl wanted Yank and she sure as hell must want Daryl. He'd been a pretty shitty brother up till now. Maybe he could get this part right at least.

Daryl wanted Yank and Merle wasn't going to stand in his way. The easiest way to not stand in the way was to make damn good and sure he didn't see too much of Yank. God knew he'd seen about all he could handle that morning..

Sinclaire walked into the library with her gun drawn, but it was still safe. She was mildly disappointed, even though she knew blood was bad for books.

"It's clear," she called to Bowhunter who had his back to her, keeping an eye out behind them.

He waved Marie in from the truck and, once she was safely inside, he closed the door.

"So what're ya lookin' fer?"

"I don't know. This is just where I end up when I need distraction. I'm going to wander."

"Okay. I'll be up here if ya need me. I'm gonna keep an eye on the doors. Ya might could get me some more Stephen King."

"You liked The Shining?"

"That was some fucked up shit. Yeah."

She gave him a half smile and headed for the fiction section. As a gesture of goodwill, after she'd picked up Carrie, Gerald's Game, and Misery, she stopped for some Nora Roberts for Lori. If anyone needed distraction it was Lori right about now. She tried to get books that didn't look too stupid, but it wasn't easy. She settled in the end for two trilogies about magic and a book called Angels Fall that sounded kind of interesting.

Maybe now that she'd had sex she could read about it without laughing. Not that Bowhunter had done any of the things she'd read about. Thank God. She wandered the shelves absently as she thought back to last night. She was proud of herself for having accomplished it without a full on panic attack. She knew Bowhunter was proud of himself for having accomplished it at all. Stupid Merle for making her feel guilty about it.

He'd practically wrapped her in ribbon and delivered her to his brother and now he was getting all...whatever he was getting. Her first thought was jealous but that didn't make sense so she dismissed it. She hadn't expected him to take losing Tiff so hard. Had he been in love with her? He hadn't acted like it. Hell, he treated her better than he had treated Tiff. And she hadn't loved him.

"What are you frowning about?" Marie asked when she came around the end of the aisle.

Sinclaire made a face and shook her head. There was no point in trying to analyze it. She'd go back to the camp and beat the shit out of Merle until he told her what the problem was if she had to, but she wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking in circles about it.

"Nothing," she answered.

"Did you sleep with Daryl?"

"I sleep with him every night," Sinclaire hedged.

"Yeah I know," Marie said with a sigh. "You don't like me do you?"

"I like you just fine," Sinclaire said honestly. "I just don't know you well enough to talk about sex with you."

"Hah! So you did!"

"I like you less now," Sinclaire pointed out. "Fine. You got me. Yes."

"And now Merle's mad at you?"

"It seems that one does not simply fuck Daryl Dixon without being called a whore.."

"Well maybe that's because Merle-" Marie began.

"Hate to break up the party," Daryl called. "But there's Walkers headed our way. Not a bunch, but we oughta get a move on."

"All right," Sinclaire called. "I'm ready. Here. Stephen King."

"Thanks. Seem to be missin' a few armloads there Yank."

"I got Harry Potter," she said defensively. "It's not exactly light reading. Anyway, I've still got some stuff back at the camp that I haven't read. I mostly just wanted to get out of there before I beat your brother up."

"It don't do no good. He never learns."

"That's not true. He learned not to call me Princess pretty quickly."

"What'd ya do to him?" Daryl asked interestedly as he held the door for her and Marie, who was struggling under the weight of her own stack of books.

"Knee. Balls."

Daryl whistled low. "You're one mean woman."

"Only to people who call me Princess."

He gave her a short smile as he closed the doors tightly.

"Get in the car," he said to Marie. "Got ya covered."

"I'm going, I'm going," she muttered. "Jerk. Always ordering people around."

Daryl looked like he was thinking of leveling the bow in her direction but SInclaire saw his better nature prevail. Or at least it did for a second or two. It stopped prevailing when Marie stopped.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" he called.

"A kitten!" she called back. "In the bushes!"

"Know what else is in the bushes? Things that wanna eat ya. Get yer ass in the car."

"Do you think they'll eat the kitten?"

"No," Daryl said, trying to speak over Sinclaire's more practical, "Maybe."

"We can't just leave it here!" Marie put the books on the ground and started after the little black ball of furr.

It hissed and bowed its back and Sinclaire laughed.

"I don't hate you, but that cat certainly seems to."

Marie looked hurt. "Animals usually love me. I don't understand."

"Then leave it and get in the damn truck!"

Bowhunter was clearly agitated. The Walkers weren't dangerously close, but it was obvious that they had seen them and were expecting a mouthful.

"But-"

"Fer God's sake!" Daryl walked over and shoved her toward the vehicle. The kitten hissed at him too. Sinclaire followed, more than slightly amused.

The kitten dashed forward and batted playfully at her bootlace.

"Really?" Sinclaire asked dryly. "You cats are all the same. You pick the one person who's not that into you to love forever."

It rolled over onto its back and displayed a tiny patch of white fur on its sunken belly as it chewed her bootlace. She heard a Walker snarl and the kitten was on its feet in seconds. It bowed its back again, puffed to twice its size and hissed and spit in their direction.

"Well, you are fairly adorable. Look at you all David and Goliath."

"Move. Yer. Ass!" Daryl said emphatically.

"Fine." She bent down and scooped up the kitten, who immediately began a rusty engine purr as she hopped into the truck. "You're driving Bowhunter. We have to stop by the store and get cat food."

"Cat's already fuckin' inconvenient," Daryl muttered as he cranked the truck.

Sinclaire scratched it under the chin and its purr filled the cab of the truck.

"Adorably inconvenient," she corrected.

Merle woke up from his nap when he heard Sophia and Sinclaire talking in the hallway as they exchanged books. Every so often, Daryl's voice joined the conversation.

"Hey!" Merle yelled. "Get in here!"

Nothing.

"Daryl!" he yelled again.

Daryl opened the door and raised an eyebrow.

"Wanna talk to ya."

Daryl crossed his arms without speaking.

"Sit yer ass down and quit actin' like a bitch. Shouldn't've said what I said all right?"

"Are ya...apologizing?" Daryl asked, nearly speechless with amazement.

"Yeah. Ya ain't gotta act like it ain't never happened before neither."

"Hell, I'd ask how much ya had to drink but that usually only makes ya bigger asshole."

"Fuck off."

"Fine." Daryl walked back to the door. "Hey Merle?"

"What?"

"Ya wanna talk to Sinclaire?."

"Nah. Think I'm all right."

"Think ya should."

"Think it's none of yer damn business," Merle barked. "Get the fuck out."

Daryl shrugged and walked out of the room.

"Was he yelling at you?" Sinclaire asked as she boosted herself onto the bar and took a drink of water.

"I don't know," Daryl answered absently as he watched her drink. Sex seemed to have turned off parts of his brain that he'd previously accessed with no problem. Like the ability to answer questions while Sinclaire swallowed things. "Yes," he said firmly when she arched an eyebrow. "Kind of. I'm not sure. No," he went on as he forced himself to recall the conversation. "Actually, he apologized."

"Really? No wonder you're confused. For what?"

"Just somethin' he said to me last night. Ain't about ya."

"DId he...did he say anything about me?"

"No," Daryl lied. "He's drinkin' anyway, ya know how he gets."

"If he's getting apologetic then apparently I don't."

"That's a new one on me too. What'd ya do with the damn cat?"

Sinclaire unzipped her jacket a little and Daryl saw the kitten nestled snug against her three layers of shirts. It's furry little face was buried in its tiny paws and it was fuckin' adorable, but he wouldn't admit it in a million years.

"It's gonna sleep in the truck with us ain't it?" he asked resignedly.

"Probably. Why? Allergic?"

"Nah. It's just...ya know...it'll...watch us."

Sinclaire snorted with laughter.

"Are you serious? Why should it care?"

"Ya ever had a pet before?" Daryl asked.

"No."

"Then ya don't know. Dated this girl fer a little while one time. Every time I even thought about puttin' my hands on her, her fuckin' cat sank its teeth into me. Still got a scar," he went on defensively when Sinclaire laughed harder. "Look!"

He held his right hand up and she squinted at it.

"I see several scars."

"Yeah well, one of 'em came from that cat, and that's all ya need to know."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"I want ya to find somewhere else fer the cat to sleep."

"Not happening. We've bonded. He's now my spirit guide."

"Fer Christ's sake."

"I don't think God is too worried about it actually. Anyway, you'll grow to love the cat. For one thing, he's very warm. It's like a furry, portable heater. I don't know why I didn't think of this before. Now you can have your side of the bed all to yourself."  
>"See? Damn things' already fuckin' up my sex life."<p>

"There can still be sex. There just doesn't have to be cuddling. Isn't that what men want?" she asked with a grin.

"Not when it's cold we don't. Some of us ain't lucky enough to have a furry spirit guide."

"Maybe you could shoot something furry and wear it."

"Doubt it."

"Oh come off it. The cat stays. Come here."

"Fer what?" he asked suspiciously.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

"Unless you don't want to," she said as she drew back.

"Don't see any reason why not," he answered, pulling her back.

It was going pretty well until he pulled her closer and woke the kitten up. It sank it's claws into his stomach and he pulled back quickly.

"See? It's shit like this," he pointed out. "Cats hate me."

"It's because you're a jerk," Marie called from the other room.

"Hates ya too," he answered. "What's that say about ya?"

"Nothing. That cat isn't normal."

"Hey!" Sinclaire said as the kitten crawled up her jacket to perch on her shoulder. "This is a pretty nifty feline. I just have to give him a badass name."

"Could name him Zeke."

"Why?" Sinclaire asked in genuine confusion.

Daryl shrugged. "Merle names everything Zeke. Guess I'm just used to it."

"Zeke the cat," Sinclaire mused. "Maybe. How many pets have been named Zeke by the way?"

"Four dogs and a class hamster at our elementary school."

"They let him name the class hamster Zeke?"

"I don't know if ya've noticed, but my brother's hard to say no to. It's name was Harold before that year."

Sinclaire laughed and pulled the small baby name book she'd swiped from the store from her pocket, She flipped to the 'z' section.

"It means God Strengthens," she said. "This is a pretty tough cat. Sweet Jesus, I might have to name his Zeke."


	49. Chapter 49

**A note from me: Okay, no spoilers...but ****_FUCK YOU AMC._**** Just...fuck you to hell.**

"Who's my good little boy?" Sinclaire's voice crooned.

"My brother lets ya talk to him like that?" Merle called as he walked into the kitchen the next day, promptly forgetting his plan to just not talk to her anymore.

She laughed. "No. You were drunk yesterday so you didn't get a chance to say 'ello to my leetle friend."

She held a small black bundle of fur in his face and he drew back to look at it properly.

"It's a cat."

"A cat it is," Sinclaire agreed happily. "Fuck the dogs of war. Cats are where it's at. He hates everybody but me."

"Yeah?" Merle tickled it under the chin and it squirmed out of her grip and landed on his shoulder. "Looks like it."

"I'll be damned," Sinclaire said. "Zeke likes you."

"Zeke?" Merle repeated. "Ya named him Zeke? That's a damn good name comein' from a Yank like ya."

"Sure did. He seemed very Zeke-esque the more I thought about it. Daryl's scared of him."

Merle grinned briefly and then remembered his deal with himself.

"Get yer warcat. I got shit to do."

Sinclaire scooped Zeke off of Merle's shoulder with a sigh. "Are you still mad at me?"

Merle didn't answer; he just followed the scent of cigarette smoke outside. Daryl and Glenn were sitting on the porch steps. Glenn was lecturing about the dangers of smoking and Daryl was puffing contentedly.

"Gimme one. I gotta say little brother, can't believe it's been all these years and yer still scared of pussy," Merle commented as he put the cigarette behind his ear for later.

Daryl coughed and Glenn snorted.

"I ain't scared of that cat!" Daryl said when he finished coughing.

"Then how come you jumped when it snuck up behind you?" Marie asked from her spot at the fire.

"Because it stuck it's claws in my damn leg!" Daryl snapped. "Them things is fuckin' sharp!"

"Poor baby brother," Merle drawled. "I'm sure Yank'll kiss it make it all better."

"Not likely," Sinclaire said from behind him. "What have you got planned today, Merle?"

"Supply run," he said quickly. "Ammo. We're runnin' low." He was congratulating himself on his ability to think on his feet when she nodded.

"That's a good point. Where do you want to look?"

"Thought I'd take Rick," he said, hooking his thumb into his belt loop and nodding at Officer Friendly who was sitting morosely by the fire. "Ain't gonna hurt him to get out of here fer a while."

"Are you saying I'm not invited?"

"If I gotta spell it out fer ya."

"I hope you weren't planning to take my box truck then," she said, making her voice saccharine sweet.

"Ya ain't gotta be a bitch about it."

"Of the two of us I don't think I"m the one being bitchy. I'm going," she said getting closer and smacking his chest with the palm of her hand. "And there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

He looked down at her. Her face flushed a little when she got good and mad and there weren't enough layers between them to keep him from remembering every bare inch of her body. He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth.

"And fuck you Merle Dixon!" she finished with another poke in the center of his chest. "Don't make me pull rank."

"Ya can pull-" he bit his tongue to keep from finishing the sentence. "Whatever. Don't see what ya wanna go fer anyway."

"Why wouldn't I want to go? Do you think I love lounging around the bar?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with it."

"Then why don't you stay?"

"Cause it was my idea to go Yank." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down.

"I'm goin' too," Daryl said. "To keep ya'll from hurtin' each other."

"Fine with me baby brother," Merle said agreeably.

Sinclaire threw up her hands and jogged down the steps.

"We're going ammo scouting," she announced. "Anyone feel like a ride along?"

Nate looked interested, but when he found out that Sinclaire, Merle and Daryl were going he decided to stay at the camp. It was a good decision because they needed someone experienced to stay and guard the camp. It was also a good decision because both Dixon's hated Nate.

"Yer comin' too," Merle said to Rick. "Fresh air and all that shit."

"What?" Rick asked blankly.

"Get off yer ass and do somethin'."

Rick didn't look inclined to agree.

"Come on!" Sinclaire shouted from the truck bed.

Rick moved as if on autopilot; Merle understood. Sinclaire's army voice was impossible to ignore. He jumped into the back of the truck and tried not to think of what went on here at night.

"Do you have the map?" Sinclaire asked Daryl.

He gave her a blank look and she sighed.

"I got the map," Merle said, leaning over the seat between them. "Here."

"Thanks," she said. "Although it helps if you open it up."

"Ya ever tried to open a map one handed?"

She didn't answer. She just spread the map across the seat between her and Daryl.

"So this is Woodbury," she said. "And we know we don't want to go that way. These are the fancy houses."

"We don't wanna go that way either," Daryl said. "We don't know who's down there. Preacherman and Marie didn't come from that way."

"Oh you finally asked her?" Sinclaire asked absently.

"Yeah. Actually I asked him. Same thing."

"If yer too much of a pussy to talk to women."

"Suck it," Daryl said absently. "I say we go this way."

"Why?" Rick asked.

"Why not?" he answered with a shrug. "Gotta start somewhere."

"I agree," SInclaire said. "Maybe we'll find a sign or two. I don't know what is wrong with the south, but you guys really seem to hate signage."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with the south," Merle countered. "We just figure that if ya wanna go somewhere, ya outghta know how to get there."

She cranked the truck with a half grin. "Touche. Also, we need gas."

"Take yer pick," Bowhunter answered with a gesture as they pulled onto the highway.

"Okay. That one. Have fun."

"Why've I gotta do it?"

"Because I have sex with you and you should be nice to me."

Rick laughed and Sinclaire gave him a grin over her shoulder.

"If a Walker gets me ya ain't gonna be gettin' none," Daryl pointed out as he got out of the truck and swung the bow onto his shoulder. "Then what'll ya do?"

"Cry every night and be able to stretch out to sleep."

"Ouch." Daryl put his hand over his heart and gave her the best puppy dog eyes he could muster.

"Okay fine. I'd keep to the right side of the mattress in remembrance of the nights we've shared."

"Damn straight."

"Get yer ass movin'," Merle barked as he climbed over the seat and jumped onto the pavement.

"Ya feel better now that ya slept it off?" Daryl asked as they walked over to the big black Dodge 3500.

"Nothin' wrong with the way I feel," Merle said. "Get that bow ready, I'm gonna open the door."

Daryl raised the bow and nodded. "Go fer it."

Merle swung the door open and stepped back.

"Clear," Daryl said after a quick scan. "And hey look! Beef jerky."

Merle shouldered him out of the way and snatched the bag away. Daryl smacked him in the back of the head.

"There's more over there. Get yer own."

"Got my own baby brother. Why don't ya get that one?"

"Cause I found this one! And it's the hot and spicy kind. Other one's teriyaki. I don't like teriyaki."

"Ya know when ya whine like that it really takes me back," Merle said nostalgically. "Fine. Take it."

"What are you guys doing?" SInclaire called.

Daryl held up the bag of jerky as Merle pulled the lever to open the gas tank.

"Why didn't I think of checking the cars?" Sinclaire asked Rick.

"Probably because that's traditionally called stealing," Rick pointed out. "But we should probably start checking from now on."

"How are you doing by the way?" Sinclaire asked.

"Just fine," Rick deflected. "Look, they're already done."

"I feel like it's not out of Merle's comfort zone," she agreed. If Rick didn't want to talk she wasn't going to drag it out of him. It would be rude for one thing, and totally hypocritical for another.

Merle upended the newly filled gas can into the box truck and watched as Daryl munched beef jerky contentedly. Jackass. Cigarettes and beef jerky and Yank. He braced the gas can on his right arm and snatched the bag away again.

"The hell?" Daryl asked.

"Changed my damn mind. Ya can't have everything."

Daryl looked baffled, but he didn't bother arguing further. Maybe they could hit up a gas station later and find some more.

They drove slowly, on the lookout signs of life or signs for ammunition.

"Hang on," Bowhunter said sometime later. "Stop fer a second."

Sinclaire pressed the brake and wondered what the hell he expected to find in a state park.

"Watch my back," he said as he slid out of the truck. A few minutes later he was back. "Come here," he said, indicating Sinclaire and Merle. "Ya can come too if ya want," he said with a nod at Rick. "Just leave the cat."

"Thanks," Rick said dryly.

Sinclaire detached Zeke and stepped out of the truck to follow Bowhunter.

"Look familiar to ya'll?"

She followed his gaze and her mouth dropped open.

"Tank," she and Merle said together.

"More'n just the tank though," Merle said as he crouched and touched the smaller tracks. "Jeeps too."

Sinclaire knelt beside him and followed his fingers with her own.

"You're right."

"No shit I'm right," he said with a grin. "Marines musta survived."

"Army," she argued. "Uncle Sam's Misguided Children couldn't find their way out of a paper bag, let alone a state park."

"And a buncha Ain't Really Marines Yet are gonna do better?"

"Obviously. USMC. U suck my co-"

Merle pushed her onto her ass in the mud before she finished.

"We're getting off the point," Rick said. "Do we try to make contact?"

"Hell yeah!" Sinclaire said as Bowhunter helped her up. "I live to prove Merle wrong."

"We'll see," he said as he stood up. "If the Army was really bein' all they could be they'd be Marines by now."

Daryl and Rick shrugged at each other and they all headed down the hill. Daryl kept his eyes on the ground and everyone else stayed behind him so they didn't mess up the tracks.

"Tank ain't moved in while," Bowhunter said in a low voice. "Jeeps ain't neither, but somethin' been in and out not too far back. Ya see it? Lighter, but it's fresher. More like a small truck."

"Maybe they went to get supplies," Rick suggested.

"More'n likely," Daryl agreed. "We oughta get offa the trail. We don't want 'em to see us comin'."

"If they're Army ya ain't got nothin' to worry about," Merle said.

"Do you know why Marines wear nametape on their pants?" Sinclaire asked.

"Huh?"

"So you know whose name to scream."

"Suck it."

"I'm only Army. That's not my thing."

"Look," Daryl said quietly. "There's the tank. Hear that?"

The soft snarling of feeding zombies filled the still air.

"It doesn't sound like there are too many of them," Sinclaire said.

"Yeah, maybe they're pinned down in the tank," Rick said.

"Ya'd know all about that wouldn't ya?" Merle asked.

Rick narrowed his eyes at him and let the subject drop.

"Want to see if we can help?" Sinclaire asked.

"Reckon we should," Bowhunter answered as he glanced at Merle who shrugged.

They approached in the shadow of the tank. Daryl leaned around and picked off the nearest Walker. When he raised his gaze to the rest of the field his heart sank.

"Sinclaire," he said as he ducked back around. "We can take the walkers down...but I don't think there's anybody left."

She pushed past him and peeked around the tank. Bodies were scattered around, at least 15 men in fatigues and each with at least one Walker ripping down into their limp bodies. She swallowed the disappointment and anger that rose and raised her gun.

When the walkers were down, they checked the bodies for indications of what had happened. They had been Army, but Merle stayed quiet about it.

"They were shot," Sinclaire said. "All of them."

Daryl put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it off and climbed up into the tank. It was empty, not just of people but of supplies as well.

"Someone did this on purpose," she said as she climbed back out. "The supplies are gone."

She slid to the ground and leaned tiredly against the tank. "Now what?"

"We came lookin' fer ammo," Merle said. "Think we oughta see about that before we head home."

"I agree," Rick said. "But I also think we're heading too far up the mountain. We're not likely to find anything up here."

"That sounds like your way of volunteering to drive," Sinclaire said as she threw the keys to Rick. "I think Zeke and I are going to have a nap."

As they walked back to the box truck Merle mulled over his options. Sit in the back with Yank and suffer, let Daryl sit in the back with Yank and have to think about stuff he didn't want to think about, or sit up front with two other guys. There was no good option.

"Are you ready to explain why you're still mad at me?" Sinclaire asked as she climbed over the seat and onto the air mattress.

It looked like the front seat for him after all.

"So ya think we oughta head back down and then maybe try over here?" he asked Rick without bothering to answer Yank.

"Yeah," Rick answered. "What do you think SInclaire?"

She shrugged. "I've handed the mission over to you, Officer Grimes. Whither thou goest I will go."

RIck cranked the truck and pulled back onto the highway.

"What the hell are ya doin' up here anyway?" Merle asked Daryl who was wedged between him and Rick.

"Can't sit with my brother without the third degree?"

"Yer too scared of the cat to go sit with Sinclaire?"

"I ain't scared of that cat!" He flinched when a hiss sounded in his ear.

Merle couldn't keep from laughing at Sinclaire's triumphant expression as she said, "It was just me, Bowhunter."

"Yer a bad person," he informed her. "But I'm gonna say that it's his bad influence."

She grinned at Merle and he forced himself to turn his gaze away without returning the smile. The mission was largely unsuccessful. They found a small pawn shop, but it had been looted in the early days of the apocalypse and there was nothing usable left.

Sinclaire was pushing broken glass around gingerly, looking for big shiny diamonds or something that would cheer Merle up, when she heard a surprised laugh from the back office.

"What's funny?" she called.

"Nothin'," both Dixon's shouted back in unison.

"That's not a good sign," Rick said flatly.

"No. No it's not."

A few seconds later they came back, identical Cheshire cat grins on their faces.

"Seriously what did you find?" SInclaire asked, baffled.

"Nothin'." Again in chorus.

She eyed the brothers. Bowhunter had his hands in his jacket pockets. That was unusual.

"What's in your pocket?"

"Nothin'."

"Why would you lie to only person in the whole world who will fuck you?"

"Hey! I was gonna tell ya later anyway."

"Over my dead body!" Merle said indignantly.

"I found it an yer sharin'."

"Found what?" Sinclaire demanded again.

Daryl held up a smallish plastic bag. Sinclaire only looked more confused. Rick raised an eyebrow.

"Whatcha gonna do?" Merle drawled. "Charge him with possession?"

"And intent to distribute," Rick said.

"Ah come on. Be cool."

"Did you just tell me to be cool?"

"Yeah." Daryl pushed the baggie back into his pocket. "Ya don't like it, don't smoke it."

"So it's pot?" Sinclaire asked.

"Yeah," Daryl answered. "Could ya not see it?"

"I don't know what it looks like."

Everyone in the small pawnshop looked at her with pity in their eyes, even Rick, who was supposed to be the representative of law and order.

"I'm an Army captain!" she said defensively.

"Yeah," Merle said. "And I was a marine. What's yer point?"

"You shouldn't be doing this anyway. It's a gateway drug."

Daryl laughed so hard he had to sit down. Sinclaire kicked him in the leg.

"Yer just...it's funny cause yer so serious about it!" he defended himself, still laughing. "It ain't pot that made Merle the way he is. It's the fact that he ain't too bright."

"Kiss my ass," Merle said, even though he was doing everything he could not to laugh. Gateway drug. Fuckin' priceless.

Rick shrugged and helped pull Daryl to his feet.

"Gateway drug or not," he said. "We should get back to the camp and check on everybody."

"And smoke," Merle said. "I'm just sayin'."

"Ya gonna join us Yank? Or ya gonna sit there all prim and proper?" Daryl asked.

"I'm not smoking pot," she said. "I'll keep watch with Rick."

"It's not my watch," Rick said. "It's Amos and Carrie. I heard something about sharing."

"Booyah!" Daryl fistbumped Rick with a grin. "I know ya could be cool about it."

"What is this world coming to?" Sinclaire asked Zeke as she cranked the truck.

He batted her on the tip of the nose and purred as he took his rightful place on her shoulder.


	50. Chapter 50

A Note from Me: Stupid real world making it hard to write fanfiction. *shakes fist* So I thought I'd do some freelance ghostwriting since I only work part time at my other job. Accept some jobs and all of a sudden boom, it turns into GIVE HER ALL THE HOURS at my regular job because some people quit and some other people were sick...and yeah. No Merle for me :( It's been awful. So here's a long chapter to make up for it!

"Any ammo?" Marie asked when Sinclaire slid out of the truck.

"Nope. Just pot."

"What?"

"Pot," Sinclaire confirmed.

"And you weren't going to tell me?" Marie asked, turning to Daryl with her hands on her hips. "Jerk."

"I just now got outta the damn truck! Ain't had time to tell nobody nothin'."

Marie snorted.

"Wouldn't've thought Preacherman would let ya anyway."

"Amos doesn't have to know."

"Unless yer plannin' to stuff cotton balls up his nose ya ain't gonna be able to hide it," Merle pointed out. "Yer a big girl. Ya wanna get high, get high."

"Damn right I want to get high!" she exclaimed. "What about you?"

Merle raised an eyebrow and then realized that Marie didn't know about his history with drugs. That was kind of nice. Anyway, the question was for Yank.

"I think I'll just observe the pothead in the wild," Sinclaire said dryly.

"I think yer gonna change yer mind," Daryl said. "Least I hope so."

"What difference does it make?"

"HIgh sex is better sex!" Glenn said from behind Sinclaire.

"What?"

"It is!" Glenn protested.

"How'd ya even find out?" Daryl asked. "We been here fer less than five minutes!"

"Marie told Carrie, Carrie told me. I came to remind you that I've always been your friend."

"I was gonna tell ya," Daryl said. "Ya just gotta hang on till it gets dark and the kids are in bed."

"You two would have made an excellent couple," Sinclaire commented.

"Hey! I'm only with him for the weed," Glenn said with a smile. "Don't be trying to tie me down."

"My apologies. I can see that you're quite the player."

The conversation picked up quickly; the twenty year old set chattering and comparing optimum munchy choices. Sinclaire caught Merle's eye and quirked her mouth in a half smile. His lips twitched, but he didn't really smile back. Instead he turned away and pulled a bag out of the back of the truck.

"We got this shit covered," he drawled into the heated argument of corn vs. potato chips. "Stopped at the gas station on the way back."

"Awesome!" Marie took the bag and dug through it. "You clearly know what you're doing when it comes to stuff like this."

"Been around," Merle agreed.

"I'm going to talk to Nate," Sinclaire said.

"The hell for?" Daryl asked.

Sinclaire didn't answer him; she just walked into the bar.

"Any luck with the ammo?" he asked eagerly.

"Not a bit," she said grimly. "But it gets worse."

She told him about the tank and the bodies. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as she explained the details.

"Sounds like an execution," he said when she finished.

"That was my thought too," she agreed as she pulled the map from her vest pocket. "I'm wondering if there's a new threat or if it's that Governor guy Marie told us about. It's a pretty far range for him and there's really no reason for him to think there was anything to gain from heading into a state park."

"Unless he knew they were there."

"True." Sinclaire put her chin in her hands. "How could he have known though?"

"Someone must have told him."

"No shit."

"You're getting mouthy," Nate pointed out with a half smile. "I think the Dixon's are a bad influence."

"I know they are. Who do you think would have ratted though? Someone in the unit?"

"No motive," Nate said after some thought. "If they were bargaining for safety then he'd have already found them."

"What're ya'll talkin' about?" Daryl asked from the doorway.

"The Army," Sinclaire said. "Sit down and think with us."

He sat with his back to the wall.

"Coulda been that somebody went crazy and killed all the rest of the unit and left."

"That's highly unlikely," Nate said.

"Well then why don't ya think of somethin' smartass?"

"The supplies were gone," Sinclaire said. "I guess crazy Army person is an outside possibility. We're thinking Governor though."

"How would he know about it?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

"Rick says he saw a helicopter last time he went out huntin'."

Nate stared at Daryl like he'd started spouting beat poetry or something equally incomprehensible. It took Sinclaire a minute but she got it.

"Oh! You think that whoever was in the chopper was attached to the unit?"

"Yeah," Daryl said as if it was obvious.

"Sorry. It took me a minute to hop your train of thought."

"If they met up with that Governor guy then they mighta give him more information than they shoulda."

"We should ask Marie," Nate began.

"No," Daryl said. "She's real sensitive about that guy."

"If she has information we can use then it doesn't matter how sensitive she is," Nate answered impatiently.

"Let's not do it tonight," Sinclaire said, compromising with a long look at Bowhunter. "We'll have to in the morning though. Nate's right. She might be able to tell us if this is something he'd do. If it is, we need to consider our options. We might have to move."

"Hell," Daryl said. "Why should we be the ones to go? I say we just deal with this motherfucker and be done with it. How much trouble could one guy be?"

"Well, better safe than sorry don't you think?'

He agreed, but Sinclaire could tell it was grudging agreement. In a way she understood. There was certainly the temptation to just deal with it. However, she wasn't about to go in without all the information she could get. If they went in at all.

Sinclaire wished she hadn't opened her mouth about the pot before nightfall came. Almost everyone was ridiculously excited over the idea of getting high. They built up the campfire and everyone gathered around it. Carol had agreed to take Carrie's watch so she was there beside Glenn. Andrea had begged off, but to everyone's amusement, Dale was there. Lori was asleep, the kids were in bed, Amos was on watch with Carol and Nate had abstained, cementing him forever as a pussy in the eyes of the brothers Dixon.

"So?" Glenn said as Daryl opened the small plastic bag. "Let's do this!"

"Hang on," Merle said. "Ya gotta let him concentrate. My baby brother rolls a better joint than anybody I know."

Daryl took a second to grin at Merle before getting down to what was apparently serious business.

"It can't be that big of a deal," Sinclaire said from her place beside him.

Several people in the group shook their heads at her sadly, so she withdrew her opinion with a good natured shrug and watched Daryl work. The serious expression on his face was fairly adorable. When it was done he took the lighter Glenn handed him and lit up, inhaling deeply and passing it to Sinclaire who promptly handed it to Rick. Daryl rolled his eyes before exhaling slowly.

"Don't puss out like Nate," he said.

"I don't want to inhale that stuff," she defended herself. "It stinks."

RIck let out his breath slowly, the same way Daryl had and passed the joint to Glenn.

"You can't make her if she doesn't want to," he said. "Even if not wanting to is the wrong decision," he finished before she could say thank you.

"Seriously," Glenn chimed in as Carrie puffed. "This is good shit! And also, it is really well rolled."

Daryl inclined his head graciously. When the joint had made it around the circle and Merle had taken a long drag all eyes fell on Sinclaire.

"Peer pressure!" Carrie sang out with a grin.

"One of us! One of us!" Daryl and Marie chanted at the same time.

"Okay that was freaky," Sinclaire muttered. "FIne. Fine! It's not like I need any extra brain cells or anything."

Daryl held the joint out and she took it hesitantly.

"Yer gonna wanna cough," he said. "Don't."

Sage nods from all around the fire followed his statement. None of them looked too messed up. She put the joint to her lips and inhaled before passing it to Rick again and trying desperately to keep the smoke in her lungs.

"Ya can stop now," Merle said dryly when her face had gone cherry red.

She let out her breath in a whoosh.

"That's my girl," Daryl said with a grin.

She still felt okay. She was still in control of everything. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. When the first joint burned low, Bowhunter rolled another one. SInclaire thought that she should be worried about them smoking too much, but it seemed like too much trouble to actually worry. She didn't even want to worry about not worrying about the thing she should worry about worrying about. She giggled and leaned against Daryl's shoulder.

"What's funny?" he asked, watching across the campfire as Carrie turned what was left of the joint in her fingers deftly and blew the smoke between Marie's parted lips. He gave Glenn a thumbs up because, hell, that was sexy as fuck, and then looked back down at Sinclaire.

"Nothing," she answered airly. "Just things get funny sometimes."

"Sure they do," he said agreeably.

Conversation began to drift around the circle as the joint was passed. Everyone weighed in on everything, from the insane ending of Lost, The Sopranos and Inception to more important issues raised by Glenn.

"If you were on Star Trek-"

"Which one?" Rick demanded.

"Any of them. All of them. What species would you be?"

"Klingon," Daryl and Merle said at the same time.

"They are pretty cool," Sinclaire said. "I also like the Bajorans."

"They're the ones with the cute noses right?" Marie asked.

"And the earrings," Sinclaire confirmed with a nod. "And attitude. Plenty of attitude."

"I liked them too," Marie agreed. "So we're Bajoran, they're Klingon,. Dale's Vulcan-"

"I am?" he asked in amusement.

"It does seem to fit," Glenn agreed. "I call Captain Picard."

"Ya can't," Merle said.

"Why not?"

"Cause he's just human. This ain't about-"

"Captain Picard was never just anything," Sinclaire said firmly.

"That ain't the point. The point is that we're pickin' specieses-"

"Species," Dale and Sinclaire corrected together.

"Whatever. And Picard's human. So he's sayin' he just wants to be human and that's dumb."

"Is not!" Carrie said, putting her arm around Glenn. "All the captains were human right?"

Silence fell as everyone had to acknowledge the point.

"Kirk and Picard and Han Solo-" she listed.

"No!" Sinclaire, Daryl, Merle, Glenn, and Rick said together.

"He was too!"

"Yes, he was," Rick explained patiently. "But that was Star Wars. We're talking Star Trek."

Carrie waved a hand. "It's basically the same thing."

G'lenn covered his heart with his hand and fell backward off the log they were sitting on.

"What?" she demanded.

"We're through," he groaned. "You're a wonderful girl, but we're through."

"Until ya wanna get laid," Merle said dryly.

When the second joint had made its way around the circle a few times Marie clapped her hands and said, "I have an idea! We should play Truth or Dare!"

"Fuck no," Daryl said promptly.

"You just volunteered to go first," she said with a grin.

"Truth," Daryl said quickly.

"Were you really a virgin before Sinclaire corrupted you?"

"Hey!" Sinclaire protested. "It was only mostly my idea!"

Daryl's response was incomprehensible because his face was buried in his hands.

"If you don't answer you have to take a dare," Marie pointed out. "The dare will involve a Britney Spears song and you taking off your shirt."

"Ya wouldn't do..." Daryl trailed off. "Ya would wouldn't ya? Fine. Yeah. It's true."

"Seriously?" Carrie asked. "Oh my God! You don't know how many times me and Tiff talked about what you were like in bed!"

"What?" Daryl, Merle, and Glenn asked at the same time.

"Well..it was before you," Carrie said weakly to both Glenn and Merle. "What?" she demanded of the rest of the group. "He's hot! I figured he'd be good in bed okay?"

"He is," SInclaire said, hoping to make the situation better. "I couldn't tell he was a virgin."

"You hate sex though," Carrie said.

"It doesn't mean I don't know good sex when I have it. It's all perfectly normal and above average."

"You're rating the sex above average?" Rick asked with a grin.

"Not the sex. The um..." Sinclaire stopped. "I think I'm saying too much."

"Wait," Marie said. "Are you talking about his-"

"Shhhh!" Sinclaire said as all the women turned to look at Daryl appraisingly.

"I'm dreamin' this right?" Daryl asked, face in his hands again. "Next thing ya know I'll show up nekkid in school."

"Okay," Sinclaire said. "We've humiliated Bowhunter enough for one evening I think."

"Hell baby brother," Merle said. "Worse things to be known fer."

After that it was Daryl's turn, but after he took time out to roll the next joint and get it started around, he ended up lost in a conversation with Dale so the game kind of died out. Sinclaire listened as he and Dale spoke seriously of distraction techniques.

"See...I'm thinkin' cows. Ya know. Fer a distraction," Daryl said. "Cause they're big and slow-"

"And I've seen Walkers eat them," Dale said with a nod. "You might be onto something. We should get cattle."

"That's what I'm sayin'!"

Marie edged over to add her two cents to the cattle debate while Glenn explained the finer points of Star Trek to Carrie, who looked completely zoned out. Rick had held onto what was left of the second joint and he was puffing thoughtfully.

Sinclaire glanced at Merle. He had his chin in his hand and he was staring into the fire. This was the quietest she'd ever seen him. He must have felt her watching him because he turned and glanced at her.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Huh? Yeah. Think I might head in soon. Them kids wake up damn early."

"Yep." She rubbed Zeke between the ears and gave Merle a half smile. "Feel like watching Zeke for me?"

"Guess I could. Why?"

"He's ain't a cat. He's a fuckin' demon," Daryl said. "Check this shit out."

He pushed his sleeve up.

"Bandages?" Marie asked, obviously unimpressed.

"There's scratches under the bandages. That's what I'm talkin' about. Cat hates me."

"He hates everybody," Sinclaire said, tapping Zeke's nose gently. "Don't you?"

He cuddled into her jacket and purred.

"Want to stay with Daddy tonight?" Sinclaire continued.

"How the hell'd I end up bein' daddy?" Merle asked as she sat down beside him and handed the small ball of black fur over gently. "Shouldn't that be Daryl's job?"

"Nope. It's Uncle Bowhunter. I refuse to share custody with someone afraid of a tiny little kitten."

Merle laughed briefly and pushed Sinclaire's hair into her eyes as he cradled the kitten in the crook of his right arm. He let his fingers rest in her thick, soft hair for a few seconds too long. She smacked his arm and shook her hair back over her shoulders as she gave him a smile.

Merle stood up without saying anything else and headed into the bar, leaving Sinclaire sitting there alone.

"All right then," she said to no one in particular. "I think the party is at an end."

"Yeah there ain't no sense in wastin' it all in one night," Daryl agreed.

"Whatever," Glenn said. "You just want us out of here so you can have sex."

****"Pretty much," Daryl said agreeably. "I got catchin' up to do."


	51. Chapter 51

"Bowhunter?" Sinclaire asked later when he was half asleep and they both had reason to be extremely relaxed.

"Mmmm?"

"Wake up!"

"I'm awake," he muttered. "What is it?"

"Why do you think Merle hates me?"

"Didn't know he did." Daryl said, pulling her closer and pressing his face against her hair. "Don't think he does. Go to sleep."

"Then you haven't been paying attention. He hates me."

"We really gotta talk about my brother in situations like this?"

"This isn't a situation. This is the denouement of a situation."

"Ya ain't gonna let it go are ya?"

"I don't think so. He's my best friend and he won't speak to me."

"Look ya know he's an asshole-"

"Not to me!"

"Not to you?" Daryl propped up on his elbow and looked at her incredulously. "He's a dick to everybody all the time and ya know it."

"He isn't as bad as he used to be."

"All right ya got me there. He'll get over it. It's probably got somethin' to do with Tiff. Merle don't talk about his feelins."

"Yes, and you're just an open book."

"Damn right. Feel like doin' some readin'?"

"Oh my. How suddenly smooth."

"Gotta be the weed."

"Has to be," Sinclaire agreed. "And I suppose if you won't indulge me in conversation you'll have to indulge me in other ways."

"That's it," Daryl murmured just before he kissed her. "I ain't never sayin' another word to ya."

Merle listened to the quiet chatter in the bar. He could hear more of what was going on with Glenn and Carrie than he wanted, but Lori crying was doing a good job of distracting him. The light that came through the cracks in the boarded up window caught Zeke's eyes and gave them a creepy glow.

"Go to sleep," Merle ordered.

Instead, Zeke climbed onto his chest and began kneading the front of his shirt.

"The fuck are ya doin'?"

The kitten curled into a ball and began to purr.

"Oh. Well, ya coulda done that without drawin' blood."

Zeke didn't acknowledge him.

"Shit. Expected better outta my first kid. Course I didn't expect to be layin' here talkin' to a damn cat neither. Let's just say it ain't shapin' up like I thought it would."

Zeke's flattened his ears back against his skull and Merle sighed.

"Is my pontificatin' irritatin' ya? Because ya can go fuck yerself."

Merle grunted in pained surprise when Zeke, very deliberately, stuck him in the gut with one claw.

"Well shit. Yer sure as hell the right cat fer Yank ain't ya? She's hard to get along with when she's sleepy too."

Since he didn't see the need to risk another open wound, Merle continued his dialogue in his head. Maybe he was just horny. Of course, if he was, he was shit out of luck. It wasn't like there was anyone likely to help him out. He couldn't even help himself out because he always thought about Sinclaire and thinking about Sinclaire made him think about Daryl and thinking about Daryl in moments like that was just about the worst thing ever.

When Merle woke up the next morning he walked down to the river to avoid the argument it looked like Rick and Lori were about to have. Merle didn't mind going toe-to-toe with anyone anytime, but he hated listening to other people argue. Probably a leftover from listening to his parent's rip each other to shreds almost daily. He didn't see Sinclaire until it was too late to turn around, but she only gave him a wave. She was talking to Sophia and the kid looked worried.

"What's wrong?" Merle asked before he thought better of it.

Sophia's mouth snapped shut and she looked down at her sneakers. Merle didn't take it personally. Kids didn't tend to like him much; he didn't tend to give them a reason to really.

"It's all right," Sinclaire said. "You can tell him.'

When all Sophia did was twist the hem of her tee shirt into a knot, SInclaire said, "She's worried about Carl. Have you noticed anything?"

Merle shook his head. Lately he hadn't noticed anything but how much he wanted to fuck his brother's girlfriend. Carl Grimes didn't exactly fit into that scope.

"Been kinda quiet," Merle said. "'Bout it I reckon."

He saw Sophia's lips move, but he wasn't close enough to hear her voice.

"He feels responsible for what happened to Shane," Sinclaire repeated. "And how Lori's been acting. And Rick. And the fact that they hate each other right now."

"That's a shitload of stuff for one kid to feel bad about," Merle said.

The shred of compassion that crept into the words gave Sophia the courage to say, "Last night he said we'd be better off without him."

"Somebody's seen him today right?" Sinclaire asked suddenly.

"I saw him at breakfast," Sophia said. "But then I came to talk to you."

Sinclaire looked at Merle. He shrugged.

"Didn't see him. Wasn't lookin' fer him though."

"I think we should," Sinclaire said. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," she said when Sophia went pale. "But we should talk to him, you know?"

Merle followed her up to the bar because he knew that she was just bullshitting the kid. He hadn't seen Carl when he walked through the bar or down to the river. Where the hell else could the kid be?

"Hey," Sinclaire said to the general gathering of people at the fire. "Anyone seen Carl today?"

Conversation halted as everyone exchanged questioning looks. The blank faces that turned back to her sent Sinclaire's heart plummeting to the soles of her boots.

"I'm going to get Nate," she said.

"What ya want him fer?" Merle demanded.

"Was your specialty search and rescue?"

"No."

"Exactly. It wasn't mine either. Why don't you see if you can find Bowhunter?"

"Sure, cause it ain't like I might know what the fuck I'm doin'," Merle muttered as he scanned the camp for Daryl.

"He said he was going to the treehouse," Marie offered.

"Thanks."

Merle stomped through the woods. Maybe Carl would be with Daryl and it would be two birds with one stone. He could hold that over Nate's head too. With that thought to brighten his outlook, he climbed up into the treehouse.

"Well shit," he said in disappointment when Daryl was alone.

"Ya came lookin' fer me," Daryl said dryly. "Or did ya want Yank?"

"No, she's the one who sent me to get ya. Can't find Carl."

Daryl raised his eyebrows. "How hard ya'll look?"

"I came here," Merle pointed out. "He ain't in the camp or the bar. Everybody but ya was present and accounted fer."

Daryl rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Reckon it's cause of what happened with Shane?"

"Well if ya ain't just Sherlock Holmes all of a sudden. Yeah, that's what Sophia said."

"Poor kid."

"Ya gonna do somethin' about it or ya gonna sit here feelin' sorry about it?"

"Mind givin' me a second to think? What's got ya so fuckin' pissy anyway?"

"Bad night. Damn cat."

"Told he was a crazy motherfucker."

"He ain't neither. Zeke's a good cat."

"Ya just said..."

"Get yer ass in gear baby brother. We ain't gonna show Nate up if we're sittin' up here are we?"


	52. Chapter 52

**FINALLY! Some time to work on something fun :) Hope you enjoy!**

Sinclaire waited impatiently for the Dixon brothers. She'd told Nate that they seemed to be missing a person and then she'd sat down on the back porch while he investigated. He was good at getting answers without freaking people out. He'd integrated himself into the group rather well, better than Sinclaire had, actually. It wasn't surprising. She simply wasn't great with people.

Speaking of people she wasn't good with...

"Found Daryl," Merle barked out as he pushed his brother up the porch steps.

"I see him," Sinclaire agreed when Daryl nearly fell onto her. "Nate's asking questions."

"Why'd ya let him handle it?" Merle demanded.

"Because I thought he'd be better at avoiding a scene," Sinclaire began when they heard a shriek from inside the bar.

"Thought wrong," Merle pointed out.

"That's just unnecessary," Sinclaire retorted as the door was flung wide open and Lori came barreling out of the bar.

"And this shit ain't?" Merle's expression seemed to ask.

Daryl, who was directly in Lori's path, seemed unsure of what to do. He took a half step out of her way, but then Rick grabbed her arm and jerked her back so he decided to stay where he was.

"What good is it going to do if you go running after him?" Rick demanded. "We don't need more missing people here. What we need is-"

"Someone who cares!" Lori hissed. "What is wrong with you? Maps? Teams? Search parties?" She transferred her angry gaze to Nate, who only shrugged. "You expect me to sit around and do nothing while my son is out there? God knows what's happening to him right now!"

"And we wouldn't have known if Sophia hadn't said something," Sinclaire pointed out as she stood up. "Where were you this morning Lori?"

"What?"

"Where were you?"

"I was...I was sleeping." Lori's face blanched white and she sat down on the top step Sinclaire had just vacated.

"And the day before?"

Lori didn't answer, but it had shut her the hell up, which had been Sinclaire's aim. She felt like shit for doing it that way though, so she hurried on.

"We can get search parties together pretty fast, right Nate?"

"I've got a plan," Nate said. "If I can have everyone's attention."

They all gathered around as Nate explained the information he'd gathered and outlined the search parameters. Carrie and Glenn had seen Carl heading toward the road about an hour before so they would concentrate the search in that area in wide circles.

"Let's go," Nate said five minutes later, when everyone understood what they were doing.

"I want to help," Marie said as Sinclaire checked her gun, spinning the silencer down quickly.

"Why didn't you tell Nate?"

"Nate intimidates me," Marie admitted.

"Okay, well, find someone without a buddy."

"The only one without a buddy is Merle."

"Then there you go. Merle's your man."

"Not quite," Marie said dryly.

"What about you and Merle?" Daryl asked as he walked over.

"Nothing! He's my buddy, apparently."

Daryl snorted. "Have fun sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart. Jerk."

Marie walked over to Merle.

"Hi. We're buddies."

"LIke hell. Who even said I was goin'?"

"Sinclaire."

"Who put Yank in charge? Last I saw it was pretty boy."

"Nate?"

"No. Daryl," Merle drawled sarcastically. "Anyway, Nate made all them circles and I ain't in one. I'm supposed to stay here and guard the bar. Fine by me."

"Oh come on. You know you want to get out there. Besides that, Andrea and Dale are staying. Andrea's the best shot here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like. People around here are good with guns. Andrea is better than good."

"Quit pickin' on her," Daryl ordered as he walked by. "And what the hell's yer problem anyway?"

"Maybe I don't wanna die lookin' fer some dumbass kid."

"Why don't you join our circle?" Sinclaire asked. "Bowhunter and I will go in one direction, you two head in the other. We'll cover more ground faster."

"Makes sense to me," Marie said.

Daryl nodded and looked at Merle who sighed heavily.

"Fine. Fuck it. Guess we're all dyin' anyway."

"You're so perky. I love that," Sinclaire muttered.

"The Princess Bride," Marie said when Daryl didn't call it. "And it's actually "they're so perky." He's talking about the MLT."

"Nicely done," Sinclaire said with a quick grin. "Okay, let's move."

"Wonder why she wanted to come," Daryl said as they headed for their search area.

"She's a good person," Sinclaire said. "She's damn good with the kids too. I guess she's worried about Carl."

"Why'd ya put her with Merle?"

"He was the only option. Unless you want to trade with me."

"Nah, I'm good. It's just...ya know. He's kind of an asshole."

"Marie handles him just fine. I think she's been through worse than what your charming brother is putting out."

"Yeah. All right." She watched Bowhunter shrug off the worry and begin to examine the ground.

Nate had assigned them to a very likely area because he knew that Daryl was the best person for the job. Sinclaire walked quietly and kept silent so that she wasn't a distraction.

"See that?" Daryl asked after a while. "Think this is it."

Sinclaire didn't really see much, but she trusted him so she nodded. He picked up the pace and she followed.

"He covered some ground," Daryl muttered under his breath. "And not by himself either."

Sinclaire jumped when he whistled suddenly.

"What the fuck?" she demanded.

"Sorry. It's fer Merle. He's close enough to hear it."

"Hell, half the damn population was close enough to hear it!"

"Whistlin' bothers ya?"

Daryl saw that her fingers were trembling slightly as she put her gun back into her pocket.

"No."

"Liar."

"I am not a liar! You just startled me. So you guys whistle for each other? Like dogs?"

"Easiest way to keep track," Daryl said with a shrug. "Wasn't like I could just call him on the phone when we were kids ya know."

"Does he whistle for you?"

"He can't whistle," Daryl said with a half grin over her head when Merle walked up.

"And I still managed to live a good life," Merle said sarcastically. "Find anything?"

"Yeah. There's been Walkers through here, same time as Carl."

"So we should hurry," Marie said.

"Yeah. You oughta go back to the bar though," Daryl said to her as he cocked the crossbow.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Ya have a gun?"

"No."

"Knife?"

"Sort of." She held up a small pocket knife.

Daryl sighed. "Any way of defendin' yerself?"

"Just you," she said pointedly.

"I'm gonna be busy. Get yer ass back to the bar."

"I"m not walking back all that way by myself!"

Sinclaire handed Marie one of her M9's and showed her the safety as they walked in the direction Bowhunter pointed out.

"If you shoot me in the back with my own gun I will haunt the shit out of you," Sinclaire said seriously. "Do not shoot unless you have a clear shot. We don't have extra ammo lying around."

"Too bad this isn't a video game," Marie said as she took the gun in a careful grip. "We'd find it just lying around."

"And we'd have multiple lives."

"Hell," Merle said with a grin. "We already got those. The second time around just ain't too pretty."

"Good point," Sinclaire said. "All right, so should we keep..."

A terrified yell from the left cut off the end of her sentence. Sinclaire broke into a run and Merle followed. Daryl wasn't quite sure what to do. Marie started after Merle, but Daryl yanked her back.

"Ya stay here."

"Yeah but I-"

"But nothin'. Ya stay here unless they head this way and then ya get yer ass back to the bar or up a tree or somethin'. Ya listenin' to me?"

"I am. I will."

Sinclaire ran as fast as she could in the direction the yell had come from. It was actually too fast. This time though, she wasn't lucky enough to fall onto a socially awkward redneck. This time she ran nearly headlong into a herd of zombies.

"Fuck!" she shouted as she moved backwards just a little bit. There wasn't far back to go. She scanned the scene for Carl and didn't see him. A shot from behind her dropped a zombie to her left and Merle stepped up beside her. When the echo had died she called Carl's name. They were near the edge of the road and when he answered, at first she couldn't figure out where he'd answered from. Then she saw him perched on the top of the only truck on the road. She wasn't sure how many zombies were between them, but it was a lot.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Don't look like there's nothin' we can do," Merle said. "What the fuck was he thinkin'?"

"This isn't the time to apply child psychology," Sinclaire snapped. Goddamnit, she didn't want Merle to be right, but she didn't see any way through the herd that didn't involve at least one of them taking one for the team.

"Where's Nate's circle?" Daryl asked.

"Out past us," Marie answered, making them all do a double take. "So I didn't listen," she said to Daryl. "Sorry. So what we need to do is draw them toward Nate and hope the firepower they're packing is enough to handle this."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "That's what I was gonna say."

"So then someone has to draw them away. How are we going to do that?"

"It's pretty easy to catch their attention," Marie pointed out. "And I'm a fast runner."

"No," Daryl said flatly.

"You think I'm totally incapable of helping don't you?" she demanded, hands on hips.

"I think it's a batshit crazy idea!" he said in a tight whisper.

"It's your idea too!"

"Okay," Sinclaire cut in. "It's the only plan that doesn't involve immediate death so it's pretty much our only option. It won't be as bad since it's winter and they're slower. Two people have to run. It's better to boost Nate's firepower as much as possible. Bowhunter, you go with her."

"Why me?"

"You're faster than Merle and I have a tendency to trip when I run fast. I'd rather my life not end in an awful B-movie scene. Hurry up. Make some noise over there and then run."

Marie's shriek caught the zombies attention and the majority of the herd headed toward her. She ran lightly backwards taunting the zombies in a voice that shook only slightly with fear. Once most of the pack had shuffled away, Sinclaire and Merle took care of the stragglers.

"Ya wanna tell me just what the hell ya was thinkin'?" Merle was demanding when Sinclaire was jerked to the ground and halfway under the car.

She didn't even have time to scream before the teeth clamped onto her leg. She kicked out with the opposite leg and connected with the zombie's head. It didn't cave in, so it was a fresh one. That explained the strength. She kicked again and stretched her arm out for Merle to grab. She knew he'd be reaching for her by now.

His fingers wrapped around hers and he dragged her out so fast that she swore at the pain of the pavement burn. The zombie snarled and scrambled forward eerily. It was missing one leg so it moved in an odd crawling run on both hands and one leg. Sinclaire had seen a lot but that was some unnerving shit.

Merle jerked her to her feet and Sinclaire put a bullet between its eyes.

"Ya all right?" Merle demanded.

"I...I...it bit me," she said. "I don't know. I don't know."

"What the fuck ya mean it bit ya?" he yelled. Without giving her time to answer he started searching her.

"My leg!" she snapped. "It bit my-" her sentence ended in a gasp as he jerked her off of her feet and smacked her down in a sitting position on the hood of the van.

"Where?" he barked.

"Here," she said, pointing with shaky fingers. There was a hole in her boot.

Merle took it off with a jarring wrench to her leg, but she didn't care. She swallowed hard as he pulled her pants leg up.

"Nothin'," he said after he'd taken a thorough look. "Not a scratch."

Sinclaire let her breath out slowly. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

"No the fuck it's not okay!" Merle bellowed as he practically threw her boot back at her before he grabbed the front of Carl's shirt and nearly jerked the kid off his feet. "What the fuck is wrong with ya? Ya little shit! Ya fuckin' run off like a goddamn moron because ya feel guilty about Shane Walsh? Didn't ya never think 'bout the fact that ya might have killed other people that had to go look fer yer sorry ass? Where were ya gonna run to get away from that?"

"I-" Carl said, but he gave up trying to speak when Merle shook him.

"Shut the fuck up! If ya'd've got Yank killed I'd've fed ya to the next zombie I saw peice by fuckin' peice! I ever catch even a hint that yer thinkin' about leavin' camp I'm gonna cut yer fuckin' foot off!"

"Merle," Sinclaire said, putting her hand on his shoulder and feeling his tension. "Merle, he's just a kid."

Merle let go of Carl's shirt so suddenly that the boy stumbled against the van. He turned and looked at Sinclaire and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't ever seen Merle look like that. His eyes were blazing and the muscles in his shoulders and chest looked painfully tight.

"He nearly got ya killed," he said, his voice dropping lower and going rougher. "Right here in fuckin' front of me."

"I'm sorry," Carl squeaked.

"Ya better be fuckin' sorry," Merle said. "Let's get yer sorry ass back to camp. Two shots, Yank."

Merle walked away as Sinclaire pointed her pistol to the sky and squeezed off two shots in a row. Then she took Carl by the arm and marched him home in total silence.


	53. Chapter 53

**A Note From Me: Forgive me if there are typos. Sinus infections are an evil bitch. I actually think I might be dying. If it all starts to go dark I'll email the major plot points to you Brazen Hussy. Carry...on...my...work...**

To Sinclaire's great relief no one had died. Bowhunter and Marie were the last to come back and she was a little surprised to see him grin down at her as she spoke. She was even more surprised when he reached out and tugged her braid. Well. She supposed she should have seen it coming.

Sinclaire turned to say something to Merle, but he had walked into the bar, scooping Zeke off the steps and onto his shoulder as he went. Still not in the mood to talk then. She was striking out with Dixon's across the board.

"Hey," Daryl said, pulling her against him and kissing the top of her head. "Glad ya made it."

"Me too. I mean you too. I..." Okay. Now she was confused. Marie had stopped to talk to Fletchley. "How did it go?"

"Good," Bowhunter answered. "She's a lot faster'n she looks. We met up with Nate. Even managed to kill most of the Walkers without usin' bullets."

"Aw, you're impressed with Nate!"

"Ain't neither."

"Are to." Sinclaire stuck her tongue out at him.

"Save that fer later," he said with a grin.

She laughed and tried not to focus on the confusion. Marie certainly didn't seem to mind; she was in the middle of telling Fletchley the whole story. She certainly did it with more flair than Bowhunter had. There were hand gestures aplenty and Sinclaire even thought that she caught a few sound effects.

As interesting as it was, she was determined to talk to Merle, so she headed into the bar.

"Merle?" she called.

"What?" he barked back from his room.

"You've got my cat," she pointed out. "And I wanted to talk to you."

"Hell, he might as well be my cat," Merle muttered. "Always pushin' him off on me so ya can fuck my brother."

"It's not my fault that you let Bowhunter grow up scared of cats!" she said indignantly as she scooped Zeke up off the floor and zipped him into the front of her vest.

"Bullshit," Merle said. "Not my fault he's a pussy. Now ya got yer cat, get outta here."

"Why are you being this way?" Sinclaire demanded.

"What way?"

"_This_ way! You're treating me like I'm everybody else!"

Merle didn't answer. He just lay back on his air mattress and put his arm over his eyes.

"Run off an play with my baby brother," he said. "Ain't got nothin' to say to ya."

"Well fuck you too then," Sinclaire snarled. "I almost died today you know!"

"I was there," Merle snapped. "Think I remember bein' the one that saved yer ass too."

"Exactly. So you do still care and you might as well admit it!"

"Shit," he drawled. "I did what I did on instinct."

"Oh, I see," Sinclaire said coldly. "So you don't really care whether I live or die, you just didn't feel like walking home alone?"

"Pretty much."

"Fuck you Merle Dixon."

He heard her leave the room and sighed. He hadn't actually meant to be so mean to her. He hadn't wanted anything more than to kick Carl's little punk ass when Yank had nearly died. He also hadn't wanted anything more than to pull her against him and hang on for dear life when he'd found out that she wasn't hurt.

He missed her and he hated himself for losing her. Or actually, he hated himself for never having her in the first place.

Sinclaire stomped over to the truck with gritted teeth. Rick stopped her.

"Thanks," he said.

"Sure. I'd say anytime but if it happens again I'm going to let Merle cut off his foot," she snapped.

Rick raised an eyebrow and she sighed.

"Sorry. I sort of almost died earlier. Don't pay any attention to me."

"Ya almost died?" Daryl asked, looking up from his conversation with Carol. "When?"

"After you left. It's not a big deal." Sinclaire was suddenly aware of all eyes on her.

"Well if that's not a big deal then I don't know what is," Rick pointed out. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. Merle checked me out. There wasn't any broken skin. At least not where the zombie got me. I think I ended up with road rash on my back from where Merle pulled me out from under the truck. It's really fine," she said in frustration when everyone leaned in for the story she didn't feel like telling.

Later that night in the truck, she felt Daryl's fingers trace over the small of her back.

"Yer right," he said. "Got skinned pretty bad."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "It was better than the alternative though. If Merle hadn't been there I probably wouldn't have made it out without getting bitten. I don't know how I missed seeing the damn thing under there."

"Everybody's done some stupid shit."

"I guess so." Sinclaire turned over onto her back and sighed.

"What's the matter?"

"Merle yelled at me."

"Nothin' new there."

"It sort of was. He used to yell at me the way he yells at you. Lately he yells at me the way he yells at everyone else."

"Want me to ask him what the fuck his problem is?"

"I already have. Do you really think he'd tell you?"

"Might," Daryl said. "I'll ask him what the fuck his problem is tomorrow if ya want."

"No, there's no reason for you to fight my battles for me. Thanks, but I'm going head to head with him tomorrow."

"Glad I'm not in his shoes," Daryl said.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah ya don't hardly ever yell at me," he said smugly.

"Huh," Sinclaire said. "I guess I don't. You don't get upset with me like you do with Marie though."

"I don't worry about ya like I do her."

Silence rang through the truck and Daryl bit his tongue. Damn it.

"I mean...ya know...she can't even shoot. An-"

"Relax," Sinclaire said with a laugh. "I'm not the jealous type. Lucky for you."

"Nothin' to be jealous of no way. That girl ain't too fond of me."

"You looked okay today," Sinclaire pointed out.

"Yeah. Anyway. I been rubbin' yer back fer a good ten minutes here..."

"And you're too much of a gentleman to ever do something like that for your own personal gain."

"Ya think so?"

Bowhunter's lips covered hers and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. At least one Dixon brother felt like being good to her after a near death experience. She decided not to mention the fact that Zeke was perched on the back of the seat watching curiously as she tugged Bowhunter's shirt up and off.

Sinclaire woke up the next morning feeling good to be alive and determined to make Merle talk to her. He must have known, because he headed toward the woods the minute he saw her.

"Ya coulda told me about the cat," Bowhunter said when she hurried past him.

"Why would I want to affect your performance negatively?" she called back.

"Yeah, but now I can't trust ya," he said in a wounded tone. "Ain't sure about this whole thing no more."

"Go talk to Fletchley. I'm sure he's up for the counseling opportunity."

She bumped the fist Marie held out at that and headed into the woods after Merle. It didn't take too long to catch up. He was surprisingly quick, but she was faster.

"Merle!" she called, nearly out of breath.

"What?" he demanded.

"_What_?" Sinclaire repeated. "You're asking me _what_?"

"Yeah. Bother ya?"

"No. What bothers me is that you've stopped talking to me! And then when you can be bothered to have a conversation you yell at me. What is your fucking problem?"

"Ain't got a problem. I yell at everybody."

"Even if that's true it doesn't explain why you've been avoiding me."

"I ain't been avoidin' ya. Ya just been busy."

"No I haven't! Don't give me that shit! You've got just as much time to hang out with me as you ever did!"

"No I don't. Yer always with my brother."

"Because you stopped talking to me! What was I supposed to do? Sit around the bar and brood with Zeke? I'm not a walking country song!"

Merle laughed.

"Don't laugh at me!" she yelled. "You make me so mad!"

"What the hell's wrong with laughin' when yer funny?" he asked, genuinely confused.

She hit him in the back of the head.

"What the fuck?" he said, rubbing the place where her hand had connected with his scalp. That shit stung.

"What the fuck?" she repeated as she smacked him again.

It was abating some of the anger. A couple more smacks and she might not be mad anymore. He caught her hand the next time and twisted her arm behind her back as he swept her feet out from under her.

"Quit that shit," he ordered.

"No," she answered flatly as she hooked her foot behind his left knee and jerked.

He landed beside her and jerked her against him when she tried to scramble back. She jammed an elbow into his stomach and managed to get to her knees before he got his breath back. He scrambled upright and wrapped his arm around her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides as he shoved his chest against her back and pushed her down again. He caught their combined weight on his left hand so he didn't hurt her.

She spat out a mouthful of leaves and said, "Jackass."

"Yer only callin' me that cause it worked."

She bucked her body up against his to try and throw him off and heard him grunt in what she assumed was pain.

"How about that? Does that work?" she asked triumphantly.

"Yeah," he answered roughly. He didn't say it out loud, but it wasn't working exactly like she was thinking. It sure as fuck wasn't making him want to let her go.

She felt his arm tighten around her when she squirmed again.

"You can't hold out forever," she said. "And anyway, this hurts."

"Goddamn right it hurts," he agreed for a totally different reason.

"Are you ready to tell me why you hate me now or do I have to beat you up again?"

"Yer on the bottom. Yer losin'."

"I've got you right where I want you," she muttered as she tried to figure out the best way to worm free. Maybe it was time for psychological warfare. "At least let me move my hands, Merle!"

"Ya think I'm stupid don't ya?"

"It was worth a shot."

"Guess so." He rested his chin on her head.

"Comfortable?"

"Not really. Just tired of ya smackin' me. Gonna keep ya right here till ya ain't mad anymore." He felt good for the first time in weeks.

"Fine. Nothing like an uncomfortable position for an uncomfortable conversation. You and I got along just fine until Tiff died and I had sex with your brother. Which one is the problem?" When Merle remained silent she sighed. "It's Tiff isn't it? Did you have...were you..."

"I wasn't in love with her. Ya been thinkin' I'm broken hearted?" he asked in surprise.

"I wondered," Sinclaire admitted. "So it's not that you loved Tiffany. It's that I'm having sex with Bowhunter."

"Why would I care about that?"

"You're the one who cares. You tell me."

"Don't care. Fuck who ya like."

"I'm hardly fucking anyone," she protested.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Yeah, it came out really weird didn't it? Sort of like he has a tiny penis."

Merle snorted before he could stop himself.

"He doesn't!" Sinclaire protested. "The last thing I need is for you to-"

"Know what the last thing _I_ need is?" Merle cut in. "A conversation with ya about my brother's dick."

"We're in agreement then. What I meant was that you're acting like I'm sleeping with everybody and I'm not. You're making what's between me and him a bigger deal than it is."

"Ya'll spend a lotta time together if it ain't a big deal."

"I like him. It's separate from the sex. Anyway, I kind of think he's got a thing for Marie that he won't admit."

"What?" Merle was so shocked that he let her go and sat up.

"You don't think so?"

"Ain't no way," Merle said firmly. "He's got you. What the fuck would he want her for?"

"Maybe he wants more than I'm offering," Sinclaire said as she knelt and dusted herself off.

"What ain't ya givin' him?"

"It's not sexual. Are you still interested?"

"Guess so." He actually prefered it that way, but he wasn't about to admit it to her.

"A deep commitment. Kids. That whole thing."

"Ya'd be stupid to be havin' kids right now anyway," Merle pointed out. "Ya don't want kids though?"

"It wouldn't matter if I did," Sinclaire answered. "Does he?"

"Yeah. He won't admit it, but he gets fuckin' mushy over babies."

"Really? Awwww!"

Merle shook his head with a sigh. "Ya do it too don't ya?"

"Nope. Babies are breakable. I stay away from them until they reach that good sturdy toddler age."

"Why wouldn't it matter if ya wanted kids? Get this thing straightened out and Daryl'll give ya all the kids ya can handle. Ya can make him take care of 'em till they're about 2 if ya wanna."

She laughed briefly. "He'll make someone a good wife."

"Damn straight. And don't think I ain't noticed that ya ain't answerin' me."

"I can't have kids," she said quickly before she could talk herself out of telling him.

"Why not?"

"A medical procedure went a little wrong. I don't want to talk about it." She licked her finger and wiped a streak of mud off of her boot.

"Huh," Merle said. "Somethin' ya don't wanna talk about. It's a real shock Yank."

"Blow me."

"Hard to do unless there's somethin' ya ain't tellin' me. And if there is, fuck no. And stay away from my brother."

She punched his arm affectionately.

"See? You're not going to lie and say you didn't miss me are you?"

"Nah." He shoved her hair into her eyes and lay back on the ground to duck her blind swing. "Missed ya a little bit. Everybody else around here's a dumbass."

"They just don't get you," Sinclaire said with smile. "And since you're incomprehensible without me to translate, it's your own fault for abandoning me."

"I reckon so. So what are ya gonna do about Daryl?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ya gonna talk to him? Tell him 'bout the kid thing? Ya gonna tell him ya ain't in love with him and ya think he should be fuckin' Marie?"

"Do you think I really need to tell him? And he can fuck whoever he wants; it's not my job to tell him that stuff. He knows we're not together like that."

"Ya sure?" Merle wasn't sure whether the hell his motivations were good or not. He sure as fuck hoped so. "I think he thinks yer something yer sayin' ya ain't."

"Thanks for the clarification," Sinclaire said dryly.

"Ya don't want him fallin' in love with ya if ya ain't gonna go ahead and fall in love with him. My baby brother falls hard. Ya ain't never seen it, but it's fuckin' brutal."

"Hmm. I guess I'll talk to him, but I really don't think I need to. I told him all this before the sex even got started."

"Don't wanna hear about the sex."

"If it bothers you that much I can go back to being asexual."

"A sexual what?"

Sinclaire snorted.

"Ya laughin' at me?"

"Well, I can't laugh with you. You don't get the joke."

He tossed an acorn at her because it was the closest thing to hand and she caught it and tossed it back.

"Why are you so mean?"

"Shit. I'm a hell of a lot nice'n I used to be."

"I suppose that's true. Come on back to camp with me, unless you're trying to get someone's attention by being all sexy and broody."

"How ya think I get all my women?" he asked as he stood and pulled her to her feet. "And it works. Yer the one who chased me down."

"And by _chased_ you mean_ knocked_ right?"

"Funny."

Merle put his arm around her shoulders and then pulled her into a loose headlock. She flicked him in the kidney so he relaxed the grip, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he grinned down at her. She smiled back up at him, a little shy suddenly as she put her arm around him, hooking her fingers through his belt loop as they walked back toward camp.

Merle suddenly frowned as he felt a sensation he hadn't ever felt before. Most of the time he was concentrating a little more south of the equator when he had a woman on his mind, but this was different. His heart had actually given a stutter-like beat when she put her arm around him and smiled.

Goddamn it.


	54. Chapter 54

**I'M BACK! Hope no one hates me. Work is stupid and I have to do lots of it lately.**

"Got a question for you, Yank," Merle said as they walked.

"Should I be nervous?"

"Nah. Not unless yer a pussy."

"We both know that's not true. Okay. Go for it."

"Why'd ya stick with me?"

"When?"

"In the beginnin'."

"It was you or certain death," Sinclaire answered honestly. "I figured that I could always push you to the zombies if I needed a quick getaway."

"Sounds about right," Merle said, absurdly proud of her for being so damn practical. "Just so ya know, I thought about pushin' ya too. But then who woulda unzipped me?"

"This is what kept me alive?" she asked dryly. "A butterfly flaps its wings and halfway around the world...I'm unzipping your fly."

"About right. Anyway, I wasn't talkin' about-"

"Hey," Lori called. "Sinclaire and...um...Merle."

"What's up?" Sinclaire asked.

Lori was practically wringing her hands. She looked like she was going to cry.

"You saved Carl."

Before Merle could say what he obviously wanted to say, Sinclaire punched him in the kidney and he had to catch his breath.

"It was no big deal," she said.

"Rick said that Daryl told him that Merle said that you nearly died."

Sinclaire felt briefly like she was back in highschool, but she untangled the sentence after a second and shrugged. "Merle was there," she said simply.

"Anyway," Lori said, clearly out of her depth. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Sinclaire said.

"Fuck that," Merle said over her words. "Keep an eye on the damn kid."

"I...I will," Lori said, before turning and walking away.

"You jackass. That could have been a kodak moment."

"Guess I don't handle compliments real well," Merle drawled.

"Hey," Daryl said, giving them both a grin. "Get him straightened out?"

"Yep," Sinclaire said. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"Shit," Merle said. "I beat her up."

"Right," Daryl said dismissively. "Everybody knows Yank can kick yer ass."

"Hey!" Merle barked. "I can beat her up right here in front of everybody if ya want."

Sinclaire put her fists up and raised an eyebrow. "Let's go, redneck."

"Maybe later."

Daryl snorted and got cuffed across the back of the head for it. It obviously didn't hurt though, because he laughed before going back to his crossbow.

"What are you doing?" Marie asked in interest.

"Restringing it," Daryl said.

"Why?"

"Because if I don't, it stops workin'. It stops workin' then I die. I don't wanna die."

"No one can blame you for any of that," Marie said. "Can I watch?"

"What for?"

"Why not?" she countered.

He shrugged and she sat down beside him, watching him take the bow apart. Sinclaire watched for a second or two but when Zeke got bored and began to antagonize Bowhunter she scooped up the little black cat and followed Merle to the edge of the ravine.

"You don't have to end it all just because I beat you up."

"Don't bug me," he answered. "I'm doin' some bitter contemplation here."

"Bitter contemplation?" she asked in shock.

"Yep," he said, relishing the words and her expression. "We still ain't been down to see them houses."

"That's because people live in them," Sinclaire pointed out.

"What?"

"Yeah. You haven't seen the smoke?" She frowned and shifted Zeke to her shoulder when he started chewing the buttons on her jacket.

"What smoke? They burnin' 'em down?"

Merle looked indignant. "No," Sinclaire said soothingly. "I guess they've got fireplaces. Don't all rich people have fireplaces?"

"How the hell would I know? Ya kept draggin' me to the damn library instead of doin' somethin' worthwhile-"

"Hey! Without the library you wouldn't have known the meaning of bitter contemplation."

"Ya know the one thing that'll make me feel better?" he asked.

"Do I want to?" she asked warily.

"Sure ya do."

"Okay."

"Drivin'."

"Driving?"

"Drivin'."

"Well...I don't really know how I can help you with that. All the Harry Potter in the world won't help me regenerate that hand."

"That's a damn shame. But I reckon I could make do with an automatic transmission."

"Nobody has one of those."

"Plenty on the road. Jesus, I think fuckin' my brother's dumbed ya down."

Sinclaire punched him in the arm. "I could knock you off into the river with no problem," she informed him.

"Least then I'd get to see them houses." He slung his arm over her shoulders. "Ya like me too much to hurt me, Yank."

"I don't think it would hurt you," she argued. "The water looks pretty deep to me."

"Hurt my feelin's though," Merle said with a grin.

"Well, we can't have that. We both know how very sensitive you are."

They dropped by the fire to explain their intentions, talked down arguments from Daryl and Rick about the stupidity of the plan, and headed out, each carrying a gas can and siphoning equipment. Pretty much every car in the yard was out of gas.

"Although," Sinclaire said. "This is a pretty stupid idea."

"Ain't neither. Anyway, ya stood up for me with Rick and Daryl."

"Well sure. We're a team. But I'm clearly the brains."

"What's yer problem with it?"

"The weather's warming up."

"Thought that's what ya wanted."

"The warmer the weather, the more active the zombie. At least that's the hypothesis. I'm not eager to test it."

"Ya got guns and so do I. Ain't seen a herd..."

"Since yesterday," she pointed out dryly.

"Yeah, but that was the first one in a long time. Anyways, feels damn good to be outta that camp."

Sinclaire couldn't argue that. It felt good to let her jacket hang open, even if that did mean that Zeke's claws dug into her shoulders because he couldn't ride in the front of the jacket anymore. Merle wasn't wearing his jacket, just a long sleeved shirt that she had a feeling wasn't his. It fit a little tight. It might have been Bowhunter's. It looked better on Merle.

"What ya lookin' at, Yank?" Merle drawled and she jerked her gaze up to his face.

"You stole that shirt." It was all she could think of to say.

"Damn right I did," he said. "Ya expected me to go through the whole winter in nothin' but a wife beater?"

"I got you a jacket."

He raised an eyebrow. "Daryl hates this shirt anyway," he said. "He's allergic to sleeves."

"I'd noticed that."

They glanced around the highway. "Any particular make and model?" she asked.

"Somethin' expensive," Merle said predictably. "Where ya headed?"

"That way." Sinclaire pointed.

"Ya didn't learn nothin' from them horror movies did ya? Yer gonna stay right here where I can keep my eye on ya."

Sinclaire fanned herself. "You're so romantic."

"Hell, ya ain't seen nothin' yet."

Merle cupped his hands to the glass of a Jeep. "Fuck."

"I think that everything you want is probably going to be a stick shift. Men and their phallic tendencies and all."

Merle didn't ask, because he could feel that she wanted him to.

"What about this?" she asked sometime later when she'd nearly lost Zeke twice and she could hear an alarming growl coming from a car to her left. "It's a Subaru. 4 wheel drive, automatic and big enough to sleep in if you had to. It's also unlocked."

"Okay," Merle said after a moment. "It'll do." He opened the door and reached down, pulling several wires free.

Sinclaire leaned against the door to keep an eye out. The car shivered when it cranked up and she heard Merle say "Fuck yeah!"

"Full tank?" she guessed.

"Yep. Get in, Yank."

"Why do I have to be your crash test dummy?"

"Just get that pretty ass in the seat."

"I had no idea you had such flattering things to say about my ass." Sinclaire walked around and hopped into the car. Zeke climbed over the headrest and into the backseat, where he prowled around busily.

"Be an idiot not to see it." Merle put his foot on the brake and edged the car into gear with his right wrist. At least it wasn't too sensitive anymore. "It's a damn fine ass." He checked the rearview and then realized how stupid that was. There wasn't likely to be anything behind him. He pulled onto the road.

"Where are we going?" Sinclaire asked when he didn't turn toward the bar.

"Fer a drive," he said as he tried the radio. There was nothing but static. Neither of them were too disappointed. It was what they'd expected. "All right with ya?"

"Sure," she said, rolling down the window a bit to get a breeze going.

Merle headed up the mountain road because he knew at least that it was clear.

"What're ya lookin' for?" he asked as Yank busied herself by examining the car.

"Well you never know," she said, as she popped open the glove box. "There could be all kinds of valuable things in here. People probably packed all the things that they didn't want stolen. Like..." she pulled out a hard plastic case. "This!" She opened it with a flourish and then sighed. "Okay. This is just cds. But you know that I'm right."

"Be nice to have some music anyway," Merle said.

"I don't see any country," she said after a quick glance through the case.

"Yer forgettin' which brother ya got here. Daryl's the country fan."

"What do you like?" she asked in surprise.

"Rock." He said it like it should have been obvious.

"Oh. Well, they've got that in spades."

She slid a cd in and they wound their way up the mountain at a speed that probably should have scared her. It didn't. It was nice to feel the wind in her face and to be a passenger for the first time in a long time. She'd closed her eyes when she felt the car slowing down.

"What are you..." she trailed off as he pulled onto an overlook. "Wow."

"Yep."

They looked out over what once been the a town. The trees were still stripped bare from winter so the view was unobstructed. Sinclaire knew that it had probably looked like this last year too. That it was only the fact that she knew that everyone was gone that made it creepy. She found herself leaning toward Merle a bit anyway though.

"Wonder how many people there really are left?" he asked after several long moments of silence.

"I don't know. We're in the minority for sure though." Sinclaire glanced around and then stepped out of the car.  
>"Where the hell ya goin'?"<p>

"I just want to look."

She felt the breeze tug at her jacket and she pulled it a little closer around her.

"Cold?"

"A little. It's not bad. I can hear some of them down there." She pointed down the side of the mountain and Merle nodded.

"Take 'em a hot minute to get up here though," he said.

She nodded and sighed. "I guess we'd better get back in the car anyway. I've had enough near death experiences for the week."

"That reminds me," Merle said as they got back into the car and locked the doors. "Hey! Stop that ya little shit." He reached back and scooped Zeke up to stop the kitten from continuing to shred the upholstery on the back seat.

"He's not a little shit," Sinclaire crooned. "He's my baby!"

"Don't ever do that again," Merle ordered. "Anyway, what I was talkin' about earlier. About why ya stuck with me. I didn't mean in the beginnin'."

"Oh?" Sinclaire wondered if he was aware that the back of his neck was starting to turn red. What the fuck? Was he actually embarrassed?

"Yeah. I mean after we met up with Rick and them. Regular people. People who didn't never knock ya down or threaten ya or nearly get ya killed."

"Are you feeling insecure?" she asked in a saccharine sweet voice.

"Go to hell," he said amiably.

"I stuck with you because I...well..." she took a deep breath. "I needed to know that I could still stand by someone."

"What's that mean?"

She drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. "I ran out on all of them. Just left them there."

"Who?" Merle asked in confusion.

"Metz."

"Who?" he repeated.

"You killed him! You should remember!"

She punched him in the arm and it stung. He also saw that her eyes flashed dangerously so he said, "Shit! Sorry. I just didn't remember his name is all. I killed him cause he was gonna try and kill ya though so that oughta mean somethin'."

"It means a lot," she said. "But it doesn't change the fact that I left when they needed me."

"Thought ya were over that."

"Well I'm not."

They contemplated the setting sun for a while.

"Ya oughta be."

"Why?"

"Cause ya ain't the only one that deserted are ya?"

"It's a little hard to tell. I wasn't there."

This time he punched her in the shoulder.

"Smartass. What I'm sayin' is that ya left and yer alive. Ya wouldn't have been if ya'd stayed. Ya couldn't've done nothin' to save 'em. But...ya saved me."

She didn't know what to say. He was looking at her in a kind of weird sideways way that he'd never looked at her before. It reminded her suddenly of Bowhunter when he was being especially awkward.

She opened her mouth, trying to figure out what to say, when something hit the side of the car with a thud and a groan. Merle flicked the headlights on and Sinclaire saw a zombie trying to crawl up the hood.

"Motherfuckin' sonsabitches," Merle muttered as he cranked the car. "Guess we oughta head back. My brother ain't used to sleepin' by hisself no more."

The zombie fell when he backed up and Sinclaire gritted her teeth when he put the car in drive again and ran over it before leaving.

"That's disgusting."

"Better'n leavin' him there," Merle said. "Ya ain't got a single humane bone in yer body do ya?"

"I have at least one!" she said indignantly. "I saved you. Zipper issues and all."


	55. Chapter 55

_"I never will forget those nights._

_I wonder if it was a dream._

_Remember how you made me crazy,_

_Remember how I made you scream._

_Now I don't understand what_

_Happened to our love._

_But, baby, I'm gonna get you back,_

_I'm gonna show you what I'm made of."_

Sinclaire was interested to learn that Merle sang. He didn't sound particularly amazing, and he didn't do it loudly, but if a song he knew came on, he sang. There were a surprising amount of songs he knew. Boys of Summer had to be her favorite of them though.

"What ya lookin' at?" he asked curiously.

"You. I wouldn't have thought that you'd sing."

"Voice like this?" Merle said with a grin. "Shame not to share it. Why don't ya sing?"

Sinclaire shrugged. "I can't compete with that and I know it. Anyway, I only sing along with musicals."

"Musicals are fuckin' weird. If I ask somebody a question an he starts singin' at me, I'm gonna punch him in his face."

Sinclaire laughed. "I bet you would."

He started to turn at the bar, but she suddenly said, "Hang on, okay? Park it."

He parked it. "What is it?"

"We've still got one thing to talk about." Sinclaire tucked on leg underneath her and turned to face him.

"Yeah?" Merle realized that his heart had kicked up a few notches.

"Yeah. The Governor."

"Oh. That guy. What the hell is there to say?"

"A lot. We still need to talk to Marie-"

"So talk to her."

"No shit. Bowhunter got weird about it. I don't think he wants us to bring him up to her."

"Him who?"

"Him _whom_."

"Huh?"

"The Governor!"

"Back up and start over," Merle ordered.

"Your brother didn't agree with asking Marie about the Governor!" Sinclaire said impatiently. "Where do you go when people are talking to you?"

"My happy place," he drawled sarcastically. "Anyway, he'll just have to get over it. Ain't really none of his business what she does no way."

"I know. I just feel bad when I ignore what he wants. Maybe we could talk to the preacher," she said suddenly. "He might know, and then that way we don't have to dredge up bad memories for Marie."

"Might could," Merle agreed. "But if he don't know, we ain't gonna have a choice."

"Hey, Fletchley," Merle called once the group outside had looked at his new car and Daryl had chewed Sinclaire out for being gone so long.

"Yes?" the preacher asked, turning back from the bar.

"Gotta ask ya somethin'." Merle waved him over to the box truck where Sinclaire was waiting. "'Bout Marie."

"What about her?" Amos asked warily.

"This Governor guy, the one she's so freaked out over. What can ya tell us about him?"

"Nothing much," the preacher answered. "I wasn't in Woodbury. I met Marie on the road. All I can really tell you is that she was terrified of him. Of me. Of everything, for a long time afterward. He...he hurt her. Badly."

His warm dark eyes met Sinclaire's and Merle felt her repress a shiver.

"So we know that he deserves to die," Sinclaire said tightly.

"But that's not the information you came looking for," Amos said. "If you need more than that, you'll have to ask Marie."

"Yeah, we're going to have to," Sinclaire said after the preacher had walked away. "There's no other option."

She waved Marie over quickly, while Daryl was busy talking with Glenn and Rick.

"What's up?"

"I've got to tell you something," Sinclaire said with a sigh. "And then I have to ask you some questions."

"All right." Marie looked a little nervous.

Sinclaire told her about finding the tank and the soldiers.

"Okay," Marie said. "So..."

"So do you think that it seems like something this Governor guy would do?" Sinclaire asked, having decided that the best way to soften the blow was to stun her with it.

Marie sat down on the tailgate of the truck and rubbed her arm. "Yeah. Probably. Do you think it was him?"

Sinclaire winced at her tone of voice. It was flat, dead, and easily recognizable.

"I'm worried that it is," she said honestly. "He's pretty far away, but if he's got some kind of way to keep himself mobilized."

"He's got a fuel station."

"Fuck my life. Are you serious?"

"Yes."

Sinclaire sat down too. "Then we have to face the very real possibility that this dude could show up here."

"Don't say that!" Marie said so shrilly that conversation near them stopped as everyone glanced their way.

Daryl and Merle walked over quickly.

"Look, I know it sucks to hear," Sinclaire said and Merle was surprised to hear how soft her tone was. "But it's the truth and we need to get mobilized now so we don't end up like those guys."

"We won't!" Marie said firmly. "We've got Daryl and you and Nate and Rick. We'll be okay."

"Thanks fer the vote of confidence," Merle muttered.

"This really somethin' we need to talk about right this second?" Bowhunter asked, looking from Sinclaire to Marie.

"Well that depends," Sinclaire said. "How much do you like the thought of being ambushed?"

"Ya really think he could?"

"Based on what little Marie has said, yeah. He's got a fuel depot."

"And an army," Marie said tightly. "And a whole town that loves him. Most of them don't know what he does...and the others are too scared to stop him."

"Fuck my life," Merle muttered.

"That's what I said," Sinclaire agreed. "We need to make a plan and we need to make it now."

Sinclaire waved Rick and they decided that they'd sit down and work the whole thing out the next day after Nate came back from hunting and everyone finished up their chores.

"We pretty much know we're going to have to leave," Rick said, rubbing his face with his hands, thinking of the conversation and the packing that lay ahead of them. "But there's no point in alarming everyone right this second."

Rick was right about one thing, and totally wrong about the other one. It would have been way better to alarm everyone right that second. But packing didn't turn out to be necessary.

***Yeah, I've been gone for a long damn time and then I left you a cliff hanger. Bwhahahaha Mine is an evil laugh!***

**But seriously, I'll have the next chapter up waaaay sooner, promise!**


	56. Chapter 56

"What was the point in askin' her all that stuff?" Daryl asked as he pulled down the door of the truck. "Makin' her scared?"

"You know the point," Sinclaire answered, slightly surprised at his tone. "She's the only one with inside information about this Governor guy and-"

"And ya were rough on her," he cut in. "And I told ya not to-"

"You told me not to?"

"Yeah."

She crossed her arms. He crossed his. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Look," Sinclaire said finally. "I get that you're feeling...protective. But that doesn't mean that I can go easy on her."

"Protective? I ain't fuckin' protective!"

"Oh come on! I know how you feel about her!"

"I don't...ya jealous?"

Sinclaire laughed. "Of you and Marie? Why would I be?"

"'Cause I know how ya'll women get! Ya think that 'cause I'm with you-"

"You're not with me."

Daryl stopped in mid sentence and stared at her. "The hell ya talkin' about?"

"We're friends, Bowhunter. And you know that. Just because we-"

"Just because we..." he paused and then barked out a laugh. "So this is what ya do with your friends?"

"You know that's not true." Sinclaire was surprised by how hurt she felt by the tone of his voice.

"Hell, what do I know? Thought ya were gonna fuckin' listen when I said to leave Marie the hell alone. Thought we had somethin' different than what we got..."

"You did not! Bowhunter, you don't want me and you know it!"

"What?"

"You have a thing for Marie, for God's sake!"

"I do not!"

"You do!"

Daryl opened his mouth and then closed it. He wasn't sure what to argue, he just knew that he wanted to. Then he got up and opened the truck door, stepped outside, and closed the door in Sinclaire's face.

Sinclaire leaned against the back of the seat and sighed. She wasn't wrong and she knew it. He didn't love her any more than she loved him. Things had just gotten tangled up the way they always did when sex was involved and, unless she missed her guess, she might have just lost a very good friend.

Suddenly annoyed, she scooped up Zeke and stomped over to the bar. She yanked open the door and walked down the hall to Merle's room.

"Who spit in yer cornflakes, Yank?" he asked in surprised.

"Your brother," she said, flopping down onto the air mattress beside his.

"Ya'll break up?"

"We were never together!" she shouted.

"Are you okay?" Glenn asked tentatively through the wall.

"Back off, Chinaman," Merle called back good naturedly. "I got this."

"As long as its in good...hand," Glenn replied.

"Smart ass," Merle muttered, but Sinclaire saw his grin. "So, what'd my brother do to ya?"

"Nothing. I mean, not...God. None of this is his fault. But hell, it's not my fault either. I thought that we could be friends and work out the issues and-"

"Issues?" Merle asked. "That what ya'll was doin'?"

Sinclaire threw up her hands. "I thought so."

"I got a question."

"Go for it."

"Why'd ya pick him to...ya know. Work out yer issues with?"

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"Think yer avoidin' the question. Like always."

"I just thought...that with him...it would be so different that it wouldn't hit any of the triggers. I never meant to hurt him." Sinclaire sighed and curled herself into a ball on the mattress, facing Merle.

"Don't think ya did," Merle said honestly. "Maybe his pride a little bit. Hell, he can't take his damn eyes offa Marie."

Sinclaire smiled a bit. "She does the same thing. They'd be cute together."

"Ya talk like that an I feel like I'm at a goddamn slumber party."

"We could have a pillow fight."

"Only if ya take off yer pants."

"Taking off my pants has only led to trouble. No more pants taking off. From now on, I'm celibate."

"I don't know what that mean, but I don't think I like the sound of it."

"It means I'm sworn off sex."

"That's crazy. Ya just got back on sex."

"How do you know?"

"Ya used to be wound tighter'n ya are now. Figure fuckin' my brother loosened ya up."

Sinclaire made a face. "Well, let's just make it sound as unattractive as possible."

"Tell me what yer issues were."

"What's the point of dredging it all up?"

"I wanna know."

She laughed. "At least you're honest."

"Come on. How long we known each other? Ya can't carry stuff like this around yer whole life. Fucks ya up."

"Okay. How about this?" Sinclaire asked. "A secret for a secret."

"Don't have no secrets."

"I call bullshit."

Merle thought deeply. "Think ya probably already know most of the shit about me. Drugs. Whores. Fights. Dishonorable discharge. Jail."

"I guess that's true," she said in surprise. She'd learned all those things along the way, piece by piece and yet she would still trust him with her life.

"So what's yer problem? Ya already know all my secrets. Spill some of yers."

"My problem is that I hate talking about it," she answered. "And I hate the way people look at me once they know."

"Yank."

She looked up and met his gaze.

"Ain't never gonna look at ya different than I do right now."

She wanted to smile, but instead her lips went all wobbly so she gave it up. She cleared her throat and sat up. Then she stood up. Then she sat down beside Merle and wrapped her arms around her knees.

"My dad died when I was 8," she said quickly. "My mom remarried when I was 11. My stepdad raped me from the time I was 12 until the time I was 13. I got pregnant. There were complications...the baby died. I hemorrhaged on the operating table. They gave me a complete hysterectomy. Mick..." she swallowed the bile that always rose in her throat at his name. "Went to jail. My mom...she couldn't take the guilt really. She started numbing it with pills. OD'd when I was 17 so I joined the Army. There you go."

Merle felt like he'd been suckerpunched. "Jesus Christ."

Sinclaire closed her eyes at the disgust in his voice. She wrapped her arms more tightly around her legs so that she wouldn't shake. She didn't dare look at him. If the look had changed she would throw up. That would probably be good revenge, but it would be humiliating. Suddenly she felt his arm around her, yanking her against his side. Off balance, she toppled against him.

He lowered his head, resting his chin on her thick, dark hair. "I thought maybe somebody fuckin' roofied ya or some shit. I didn't know it was nothin' like that. Christ, I hope he died slow and painful."

"You're not grossed out by me?"

"Fuck no! Why the hell would I be?"

"I don't know!" Sinclaire was so relieved that she laughed. Then she started to cry. She cried until she couldn't breathe, until the shoulder of Merle's shirt was soaked. Then, when she was done, she realized that he hadn't said anything. All he'd done was hold her tightly. All he'd done was let her cry. All he'd done was exactly what she'd needed.

She had no idea how to handle it. "You know what we should do?" she said suddenly.

"What?"

"We should start loading up the truck."

"Right now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we totally should. Let's go. Let's do it."

Merle only followed her because the shaky smile she gave him was fucking adorable, but he did feel better when the truck was loaded with a good bit of canned food, several big jugs of boiled water that they'd been stockpiling, and pillows, blankets and sleeping bags.

"Can we finally go to sleep now, Yank?" he asked when they'd heaved the last of the food into the back of the truck.

"I was kind of thinking that we should put some stuff in your car too," she said, glancing around. "And maybe we should find your brother."

"He'll turn up in the morning," Merle said. "He does shit like this."

Sinclaire was up with the sun, hoping to talk to Nate. She walked into the bar kitchen, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Seen Nate?" she asked the room at large.

"He hasn't come back yet," Andrea answered. "Where's all of our stuff, anyway?"

"A lot of it is in the box truck," Sinclaire answered. "Some of it is in Merle's Subaru."

"Why?"

"Oh, right you haven't heard. We're leaving."

"Who made that decision?" Lori asked from behind her.

"A few of us," Sinclaire answered pleasantly. "Rick, Merle, Daryl, me."

"Shouldn't we talk about it?" Andrea asked.

"We're going to talk about it," Sinclaire answered. "When Nate gets back."

"So what's the deal with you going ahead and loading everything up?"

"The deal is that we're probably going to have to move on and it's better to get it done than not." Sinclaire hadn't really expected to butt heads with Andrea over this. Truthfully, they hardly ever spoke to each other. Andrea hated Merle and while the dislike didn't exactly extend to Sinclaire, she certainly didn't seek her out.

"Does Rick know that you packed up?" Andrea asked.

"Considering that he had the watch last night and I walked past him about fifty times when I was loading the truck, yeah, I'd say he does. If you've got a problem with it, maybe you should have a chat with him." Maybe it wasn't fair to force this on Rick, but as far as Sinclaire was concerned, he was her CO.

"I think I will." Andrea headed out.

Sinclaire sighed. The day wasn't exactly going well. Merle came out of the room, rubbing his hand over the stubble on his face.

"What's goin' on?"

"Just the usual state," Sinclaire answered with a shrug.

Sophia walked by, looking worried.

"Hey," Sinclaire said. "Do me a favor, okay, Soph?"

"Sure!"

"I want you to go back to your room and pack up."

"What's wrong?" Sophia asked.

"Nothing's wrong. I just like to be prepared. If you see Carl, tell him to do the same thing."

Sophia nodded and hurried away.

"What ya say we track down my little brother?" Merle asked.

"Yeah, I think that might be good actually." Sinclaire walked out to the truck, pulled her vest on, made sure her guns were loaded with what precious little ammo there was, and then pulled her Army hat on slightly to the side as she grinned at Merle.

"Ready?" he asked, pushing his gun down into the back of his waistband.

"Yep. You're not worried are you?"

"Shit. You know I don't do that."

"What was I thinking?" Sinclaire asked sardonically as they headed down the stairs.

Nate was in the yard talking to Rick and Andrea when they walked out, so Sinclaire jogged over to listen to the conversation.

"Where are you headed?" Rick asked.

"We thought we'd go track Daryl down," Sinclaire answered. "Is this all cleared up?"

"I still think that you could have asked us," Andrea said, but she sounded more level about it now.

"So, are you going to finish loading up?" Sinclaire asked.

Rick nodded. "Yeah. We'll meet up back here in two hours."

"Or less," Sinclaire said with a nod as she let Zeke perch on her shoulder. "I think I know where to look anyway."

She and Merle headed off into the woods quickly.

"Treehouse?" he asked.

She nodded. "Seems like a likely place."

"Morning!" Marie called down when Sinclaire called up into the treehouse. "Come on up!"

"Daryl with ya?" Merle asked instead.

"Whatcha want?" Daryl asked, leaning out.

"Whatcha think, dumbass? Come on, we're gettin' ready to leave."

"Already?" Daryl slung his crossbow over his shoulder and tossed the ladder out. "Go on, darlin'," he said to Marie.

"Thank you, kind sir," she said with a smirk as she headed down the ladder.

"Darlin'," Merle said in an undertone.

"What do you call girls you like?" Sinclaire asked just as quietly.

"Sweetheart."

"Clearly a better choice." She nodded sagely and he pushed her, making her stumble and laugh.

"Where are we going to go?" Marie was asking when they heard gunfire from the camp.

Marie's hands flew to her ears as color drained from her face. Daryl pulled her against him as a piercing scream rang out. Sinclaire drew her gun and glanced around. A lot of noise might very well draw another herd of zombies and clearly they had big enough problems back at the camp.

She glanced at Merle and he nodded toward the back way to camp. "Over there. We'll go in near the river."

She agreed so she started to move. Marie didn't.

"I...I can't," she whispered, shaking her head so frantically that her hair stuck to her tear streaked face. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

"Hell, we can't just leave ya here," Daryl protested.

"Yes you can! I'll be fine! I'll stay in the treehouse-"

"Deer stand," Daryl corrected reflexively.

"Good God, Bowhunter," Sinclaire said. "Marie, man up."

"What?" Marie asked, momentarily shocked out of her fear.

"I said man up. And I meant it. People could be dying back there and we've got to do something about it."

"What can I do?" Marie demanded.

"You can come with us so that he's not distracted and worried about you," Sinclaire said, pointing at Daryl as she zipped Zeke into her vest and prayed that he wouldn't claw her up too badly. "I ran once when people needed me. I'm not doing it again."

She didn't wait for an answer, but she heard Marie follow her as she started walking away. Thank God she still had a semblance of a commanding presence when she needed one. There were more gunshots at the campsite and, when they finally got close enough to see what was happening, Sinclaire felt her mouth drop open.

"Jesus Christ," Merle said from her right. "A fucking tank?"

"It's him," Marie whimpered as a tall man walked into their line of sight. "The Governor."

"Fuck," Sinclaire whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"That 'bout covers it," Merle agreed.

Sinclaire realized that she had no idea what she needed to do. The Governor's men were everywhere, rounding people up, setting fire to the bar...her fists clenched in rage. That bar had been home.

Marie gasped and Sinclaire saw Daryl put his hand over her mouth before she could make any more noise. Sinclaire followed her gaze and saw Lori on the ground. She was completely still.

"Oh my God," Carol gasped from behind them. "You're here!"

"You're here too," Sinclaire breathed in relief when she saw Nate, Carol, Sophia, and Carl. "Okay. So what the hell is going on?"

"He showed up almost right after you left," Nate said, speaking quickly. "Lori's dead, Dale was wounded, but I don't know how badly. Andrea made it to a car."

"That bitch stole my car?" Merle demanded.

"So, Lori, Andrea, and Dale are out of the picture. We're here...Rick?"

"And Preacher Man?" Daryl asked. "Glenn? Carrie?"

Nate shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"Take him," they heard the Governor shout. "Her too."

That answered one question. Glenn was thrown unceremoniously into the back of Sinclair's box truck. Carrie was tossed in after him, her wails muffled by a gag.

"There's too many," Nate said, when Sinclaire moved forward. "We've got to go."

"We can't go!" she hissed.

"You want to end up like them?"

Sinclaire pushed her hands through her hair. "Okay. We've got to get them to safety."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Nate demanded.

"River," Merle said.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"River. Unless ya'll got a brighter idea."

Sinclaire gestured at the cliff. "Are you suggesting that we toss children off of that?"

They inched over to the edge and glanced down. "There is no way in hell..." Sinclaire began.

"Fan out!" the Governor called. "Fan out and check the woods!"

"Shit," Daryl muttered.

"All right, well, can you guys all swim?" Sinclaire demanded.

"I'm not leaving without my dad!" Carl said.

"Carl, I need you to take care of them," Sinclaire said seriously. "You're damn decent with that gun and Nate is going to need some help and-"

"I'm not a little kid!" Carl cut in. "And you can't talk me into-"

"Okay, then we do this the hard way." Sinclaire pushed him over the edge and pointed for Nate to follow him. "Go, go, go!"

Once Nate, Sophia and Carol were over the edge, Daryl paused. "What are ya'll gonna do?"

"I'm going to save them," Sinclaire said. "Or die trying. You should go."

"No, I'll stay with ya."

Marie swallowed hard. "Me too."

"Like fun you will," Sinclaire said. She'd always wanted to say it and now seemed like the time to use up all her best lines. "Get yourself over that cliff, young lady. You too, Bowhunter. She won't go without you."

"Yeah, but..."

"Don't make me push you too! They're getting closer!" When Daryl took a step toward the edge, Sinclaire remembered something. "Oh, take Zeke."

"The fuck?" Daryl groaned as she stuffed the reluctant cat into his jacket. "Ow!"

"Go, Bowhunter!"

"Sinclaire, I-"

"Ain't the time," Merle growled.

Sinclaire pushed him over the edge and, since he was still holding onto Marie, she went with him.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath and smiling at wobbly smile at Merle. "Civilians accounted for. Ready to die pointlessly?"

Merle grabbed the front of her vest and dragged her against him, his mouth crashing down on hers. Her surprised exclamation came out as a weird gurgle, but after a second she wasn't embarrassed about it anymore. It was a good kiss. An unexpectedly good kiss.

"What...was that for?" she asked when he pulled back.

"Think I'm fallin' in love with ya, Yank."

Then he pushed her over the cliff.


	57. Chapter 57

Sinclaire emerged from the water with a war cry of rage. It actually felt good. Maybe that was why Merle yelled so much. Wait. No. Fuck Merle. She yelled again, but this one wasn't as impressive since she was a shitty swimmer and already starting to sink a bit.

Daryl put out his hand to help her out of the water and she slapped it away because fuck being rational, too. "Where's my cat?" she demanded shrilly.

"Where's my brother?" Daryl asked, dragging Zeke out of the front of his vest and shoving the angry fur ball at Sinclaire.

"Your stupid fucking brother pushed me over the stupid fucking cliff to go and throw away his stupid fucking life!"

Zeke scratched her, bowing his back and hissing, and Sinclaire realized that the kitten had a point. She needed to not lose it right now. She took a deep breath, steadying herself as questions were thrown at her left and right by everyone on the grassy area by the lake. She held up her hand after several minutes and focused her attention on Nate.

"Glenn and Carrie were taken, the preacher was M.I.A. So was Rick. Lori is..." she avoided Carl's eyes. "Lori didn't make it. You said Dale was wounded and Andrea left with him?"

Nate nodded.

"Okay," she went on. "Then we've got to consider them out of the game. God only knows where they went."

"And my brother?" Daryl asked again.

Sinclaire pointed up at the cliff. "Up there. M.I.A with Rick and the preacher."

"No, we gotta do somethin'!" Daryl insisted.

"Do what?" Sinclaire snapped.

"Go back! We gotta get up there!"

"How well do you think that's going to work out? Did you miss seeing the tank? Or miss the fact that we're out numbered?" Sinclaire allowed Zeke to perch on her shoulder since her hands had tightened into fists.

"What the hell?" Daryl yelled. "Is this what you do? You just fuckin' run off when people need you? The goddamn army all over again? Too scared to-"

That was as far as he got before Sinclaire kicked him in the knee. "I didn't _leave_! I was pushed, you son of a bitch!"

Nate grabbed her when she stepped forward. She kicked him too, but he didn't react. All he did was immobilize her arms and lift her up so that her feet didn't touch the ground.

"Special forces dickhead!" Sinclaire snarled.

"You'll probably regret beating up your boyfriend," Nate said and damn it if she didn't hear a smile in his voice.

"He's not my boyfriend," Sinclaire snapped.

"She ain't gonna beat me up," Daryl snarled.

"Watch me, Redneck!"

"Stop it, please!" Marie said shakily. "Why did Merle stay?"

"I don't know," Sinclaire answered, trying for a little dignity despite the fact that she had a kitten hissing in her ear and a 6'4 Navy Seal holding her off the ground.

"Look!" Carol gasped, pointing up at the cliff.

A body dropped gracelessly off of it. Nate dropped Sinclaire to her feet and dove into the lake without waiting for the man in question to hit the water. Daryl dove in after him. Sinclaire's brain finally clicked into gear.

"Get back," she said quickly. "Into the woods, out of sight of the cliff. We don't want him to know we're here. Carl, go with Carol and Sophia. Go, move!" She shepherded them into the neat little grove of trees the golf community had cultivated, hoping they were well hidden enough in case the Governor decided to look over for some reason. Her heart was beating too quickly. It had to be rage, right? When Merle got...it wasn't Merle that they were dragging ashore. It was Rick. Her heart dropped to her soggy boots.

"Dad!" Carl ran forward as Daryl and Nate pulled Rick into the treeline. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Fine," Rick said, sitting up a little too quickly. He rested his head in his hands and Sinclaire saw a red spot darkening around his right eye and down his cheek.

She tried to keep her voice steady. "What happened?"

Rick rubbed his face and then winced. "Merle happened."

Merle watched Yank hit the water with a splash and thought about how it was probably for the best that they'd never see each other again. She'd have his balls on a plate for what he'd just done. He looked over at what had been their backyard and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes which were only blurry cause of the damn smoke. He didn't know which asshole had set the fire, but he fully planned to throw that bastard a beatin.

He had to figure out a way to get Glenn and Carrie out. Then he could dump 'em over the cliff and...

"Fuck me."

Yank had been right. The noise was drawing the zombies. Guns began to go off and the Governor shouted for everyone to start moving out. Fuck, fuck, fuck! How the hell was he supposed to. .. Rick.

Officer Friendly had emerged from the smoke, his gun drawn and pointed directly at the Governor. The man glanced around, but with the smoke and the panic and the zombies getting closer, there was no one to step in and he probably knew that he couldn't kill Rick before Rick killed him.

Merle sighed and stepped out of the woods. From his vantage point the punch was easy to land and Rick dropped the gun as he staggered and nearly fell. Merle kicked it over to the Governor and dragged Rick upright, punching him again as he snarled, "Hit the dirt, dumbass."

Rick did as Merle said but, when Merle leaned over him, he hissed, "that bastard killed my wife!"

"Boo hoo, ya fuckin jackass!" Merle yelled, continuing in a lower tone as the Governor approached. "But not yer boy, so I suggest ya play along."

Merle felt the cold barrel of the Governor's gun on the back of his neck.

"Fine way to repay a favor," he snapped before the man could say anything.

"I'd like to know why you're doing the favor. Aren't you part of the camp?"

"I lived here," Merle answered. "But I ain't never been part of this. And this bastard here..." he backhanded Rick. "Is the reason I'm down one hand. Just been waiting for a chance to pay him back."

The Governor laughed. "What's your name?"

"Merle."

"Well, Merle, my name is Brian and I think you'd be a good fit in my town. Pretty little place called Woodbury. They call me the Governor. We can head there as soon as you finish with him."

"Oh I'm about done," Merle said casually.

The Governor's smile was still in place but his eyes had gone cold as a rattlesnake's. "You're not going to kill him?"

"Why should I, when I can let them eat him alive?" Merle pointed to the advancing zombies. He yanked Rick up and punched him one last time, letting him fall bonelessly to the ground. "Shit way to go for him and no cleanup for me."

After a second and after a strategic glance over his shoulder to see how close the zombies were, the Governor laughed once more. "Sounds fine to me."

"Then let's get movin'," Merle said brusquely. "I like the sound of that town." And if they didn't get on the road, Rick really would get eaten. Or, he'd move too soon and it would be Merle's ass on the line. He didn't relax until they were in the truck, but as far as he knew Rick was still alive when they left. He was surprised to find that he hoped Officer Friendly stayed that way.

"So now what?" Marie asked once Rick had finished.

Sinclaire looked away from the gaze. She didn't know.

"Now I guess you should introduce yourselves."

They turned as one to see a new group of people in the trees. They were heavily armed and not exactly friendly looking.


	58. Chapter 58

Merle watched as the town came into view.

"What do you think?" the Governor asked.

"Bigger'n I thought it was gonna be," Merle said. A hell of a lot bigger. If the whole damn town was as batshit as the Governor and his band of crazies, he was totally fucked.

The Governor nodded. "We've got over a hundred people here now."

"All soldiers?"

"Some of my soldiers stay behind to look after things, but its mostly families and refugees here."

Merle raised an eyebrow. "How the hell ya feed 'em all?"

"they work."

The gates opened and Merle held back an awful lot of swearing. It looked...hell, it looked damn near normal, if you ignored the makeshift fence surrounding the place. There were kids playing in the streets, women out front fucking around in gardens, men hauling things and shoring up the fence...and he was in a damn tank with two people bound and gagged. It was like Mayberry if you were on acid.

"what'd ya take the prisoners fer?" he asked. "Everybody here okay with that?"

The Governor gave him a sharp glance. Merle tried to look only mildly interested. He must have passed muster, but the man said, "no. Most of them don't know about it. But I have my reasons and I'd prefer it if you kept quiet about it."

Or get your fucking tongue ripped out. It was unspoken, but Merle wasn't stupid. Since he was already down to one hand, he figured he'd hang on to his tongue.

"It's yer town," he said simply.

The Governor laughed and clapped him on the back. "I knew we'd get along."

The tank rolled into the space that had been made for it and the man who called himself the Governor got out. Merle stayed for a moment. He had no idea what the hell he was going to do next.

Sinclaire looked at the people in front of her and tried to rein in her temper. Her group was waterlogged, shocked, and outgunned and she couldn't afford to lose it now. Nate stepped forward.

"What's the problem?"

The man in fatigues spoke up. "The _problem_ is that you dropped off that cliff outta nowhere like fucking paratroopers and we wanna know why."

"I didn't drop, I was thrown," Sinclaire said, having gotten control. "We were attacked."

Alarm crossed the man's face. "Who attacked you? Where are they now?"

Sinclaire looked at Rick.

"They headed out," Rick said.

"They're going to Woodbury," Marie added. "It's kind of far from here."

"How far?" The man barked, making Marie jump.

"Take it easy. She ain't fuckin' Magellan," Daryl snapped.

"I need some details!"

A tall, heavily built black man stepped up and put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Calm down, Abraham."

Sinclaire looked at the other man. Sure, he had a gun, but he also had a calm demeanor.

"Maybe we could take some time and talk things out," she said, matching the man's tone. "The Governor, he's the one that attacked us, is on his way back to his own town, and we aren't a threat to you if you aren't a threat to us."

Abraham looked at her, and then around at them all. There was a shuffling from their left and Daryl swung his crossbow up, dropping a zombie. As he stepped forward to pull the bolt free, he stopped.

"Shit."

Sinclaire stepped up beside him and watched them approach, feeling almost detached from it all. "We've gotten their attention."

She turned back to the men behind her. Abraham took a step back. Her heart sank. Without somewhere safe, they wouldn't all survive this.

"Let's go, Tyreese."

"They got kids, man," Tyreese said, his eyes on Carl and Sophia.

"We got people to protect too!" Abraham shouted.

"Please!" Marie said, her eyes wide and her voice trembling. "Please, we're good people and we've lost..." her voice broke. "Everything. Please."

"Ah hell," Abraham snarled, watching Tyreese cave.

"Follow me," Tyreese ordered.

Sinclaire allowed Nate to take the lead and she brought up the rear, running beside Rick to make sure he made it. Merle had really walloped him.

"Look at this shit," Daryl said as the place came into view.

It was a gated community with fancy brick walls and a heavy wrought iron gate. Abraham jerked the gate open and they all piled in.

"What's going on?" A pretty girl with a long ponytail pulled back through her baseball cap demanded.

Abraham ignored her as he muscled the gate shut. Everyone looked around at the new place and then eyed the other group warily.

"What's up?" A guy with a mullet asked.

"They're the group that was up on the hill," Tyreese said.

"You knew about us?" Daryl asked.

"We could see the smoke from your fires," the girl answered.

Just like she and Merle had seen the smoke from theirs. Sinclaire looked at the huge brick houses. They had to be worth millions. Merle had been right.

"And you trusted them?" the girl continued, looking amazed.

"I didn't have a choice," Abraham growled, looking at Tyreese.

"I'll take responsibility for them," Tyreese said without rancor. "Back off, man."

Mullet Guy approached Sinclaire, but he didn't speak. She eyed him in silence too, mostly because she wasn't in the mood to be polite. Eventually he walked away again.

"You can stay the night," Abraham decreed. "Then you gotta hit the road."

"You act like we're beggin' to stay here," Daryl snapped. "I was leavin' anyway."

"Leaving?" Marie asked shrilly.

Rick held his hand up in a sharp gesture, cutting the brewing argument short. "We're happy to have a place."

Sinclaire noticed how exhausted he looked and how pale Carl was. It hit her then that Lori was dead. Lori and the baby she had carried.

"Where do you want us to stay?" she said abruptly.

Tyreese escorted them to a huge, empty house.

"There's a fireplace in the living room," he said. "I'll get your fire started. You can all camp out here for a while and dry out. There'll be a guard outside your door."

He said the last part apologetically, but no one was seriously offended. He dropped off several cans of something and Carol started preparing a meal in silence. Sinclaire pulled back the curtain and eyed the guards. She wasn't surprised to see that one of them was Abraham. The other was a younger guy that she hadn't met yet. She saw mullet man approach and get rebuffed by Abraham.

"Awfully protective, huh red Beard?" she muttered, dropping the curtain.

When she turned, she was nose to nose with Daryl.

"The hell do we do now?" he demanded.

She pushed him to the side and went to sit in front of the fire, pulling her gun out and breaking it down, hoping like hell that it would dry and work again. She heard him continue to talk, his voice getting louder as she ignored him, but there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't answer him.

Her throat ached. Her body ached. Her heart ached.

And she had no idea what the hell to do now.

Author's Note: I have already started working on the next chapter because (not to oversell it) I got one hell of an idea the other day and I don't wanna lose it. Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving and are not getting too caught up in the Christmas rush already. Also (shameless self promotion here) if you like Supernatural, feel free to check the new story I put up a few weeks ago, Love and Other Lore. And if you don't like Supernatural...watch it until you do. Supernatural is awesome.


	59. Chapter 59

Sinclaire woke up on the floor of a McMansion, but she couldn't enjoy the view of the vaulted ceiling or the feel of the cashmere blanket someone (most likely Carol since Daryl was so mad at her that he couldn't even look her way without snarling) had thrown over her. She sat up quietly.

Most of the room was still asleep, but Rick was sitting up in the corner. The fireplace seemed to highlight every new line in his face. She stood up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Then she stepped delicately over the people sleeping around her and joined him.

"I'm sorry," she said. It wasn't enough, obviously, but Rick nodded.

"I'm sorry too," he said.

She thought at first that he meant about Lori and the baby, but when she looked at him, she saw that he meant something different. She couldn't address it, so she looked down at the blanket. It was grey and dusty where it had been folded. She raked her fingernail across it and watched the dust motes rise in front of the flames.

"We need a plan."

"I'll get Nate and Daryl," Rick said, standing up tiredly.

Sinclaire wondered if he'd slept at all. Soon Nate and Daryl joined them and they all stepped onto the back deck. It was fenced in, but the real reason there were no guards there was probably because it faced another ravine. This one was smaller, but she could hear the river splashing through it from where she stood. It was probably so full of rocks that diving would be asking for a broken leg.

"What's the plan?" Daryl asked. He seemed a bit calmer, but he still wasn't looking Sinclaire's way. She wondered if things would ever be easy between the two of them again.

"We can find a new place," Nate said.

"That ain't what I mean."

"Merle and Glenn and Carrie," Rick said, rubbing his hands over his face. "Goddamn it. I don't know."

"Maybe once we get a new place we can send a recon party," Nate said. "But we've got to keep the people we have left safe before we do that."

Daryl seemed caught between a desire to argue and the logic that told him that Nate was right.

Sinclaire leaned against the railing and said, "Why not join us, Red Beard? You should be satisfied by now that we aren't planning to murder you all in your sleep."

It took a few minutes, but he walked around, through the house, and out onto the back deck. He stood there with his arms crossed, although he looked mildly impressed.

"You're real military," he said to Sinclaire.

She raised an eyebrow as she gestured at her fatigues. "You thought I wore this to accentuate my ass?"

"Seen a lot of people wear 'em," he said. "Don't mean they earned 'em."

Sinclaire only shrugged. "Clothes are clothes now. Where'd you serve?"

"Afghanistan."

She gestured at Nate. "He's Navy. SEAL."

Abraham looked a little surprised.

"Rick was a cop," she went on. "And I was an Army Captain when Atlanta fell."

He eyed them all. "Maybe you're not as useless as I thought."

"Thanks," Nate said dryly.

"Last bunch I trusted nearly got us killed," Abraham said. "They're the reason we wasted the damn winter with the old man."

"Who's the old man?" Daryl asked.

"Guy named Herschel. He used to have a farm around here, but it got overrun. We met 'em on the road."

"Probably still would have been better to travel in winter though," Sinclaire said. "Cold makes the zombies lazy."

"Couldn't," Abraham said promptly. "Eugene was sick."

"Sick how?" Daryl asked warily.

"Normal sick. Flu, Herschel said. Took him a long damn time to get over don't ya'll come on and have breakfast with us?" He didn't wait for an answer, he just pointed to the house across the way and said, "Over there in about ten minutes."

"The hell is he so fuckin' chummy for all of a sudden?" Daryl asked. "Plannin' on poisonin' us?"

"I doubt it," Nate said. "I think he wants something."

Since she agreed with Nate, Sinclaire didn't add her two cents. Instead she helped Rick wake everyone up and walked across the street with the rest of the group. Marie stuck near the back with her.

"Sinclaire?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you and Daryl mad at each other?"

It was such a childish question that Sinclaire stopped and stared at her. "What?"

Marie blushed, realizing how she'd sounded. "I just thought..."

"Thought what? And didn't you spend the night with him last night?"

"Nothing happened!" Marie stopped and caught Sinclaire's hand. "We didn't...I mean..."

Sinclaire pulled her hand free, but not as brusquely as she'd planned. "Marie, now's really not the time. All you need to know is that Bowhunter and I had a friends with benefits arrangement. He likes you, I think. I won't be mad if you fuck him. Does that cover everything?"

"Um, I think so." Marie stared at her for a few moments. "You know, you and Merle really are..."

Sinclaire held her hand up. "I don't have time to stand around girling it up with you. Let's go eat." She walked away.

"Weirdly perfect for each other," Marie muttered before following.

"Here they are," Abraham said unceremoniously. He gestured to the table. "Get something to eat."

Sinclaire eyed the table. Nothing on it looked appetizing, but she took a plate anyway. Everything on it tasted like dust, but she listened to the small talk. Once everyone was done eating, Abraham stood up.

"All right, I'm just gonna say it."

Everyone looked his way. Sinclaire looked around. Mullet guy was staring at his plate as if it held the secrets to the universe. His ears and the back of his neck had gone a little red.

"Eugene knows a way to stop all this." Abraham pointed to the mullet. "We've just gotta get him to D.C."

Everyone in Sinclaire's group sat silently for a moment. Then Marie said, "Seriously?"

"Don't fuckin' matter," Daryl said. "CDC's what ya'd need, right?" Eugene looked at him. Daryl swigged down the last of his water and said, "S'gone, pal."

Eugene only shrugged, looking infuriatingly superior.

"We're offering to take you with us," Abraham said with a hard look at Daryl. "Added protection from the cops and the military can't hurt."

What the hell kind of world did this guy think he was living in? Being military hadn't stopped what had happened to them. They'd fallen off of a cliff right under his nose for God's sake.

"And you're all in on it?" Daryl asked, looking around.

"Not all of us," a man with a white beard and even whiter hair said. Sinclaire felt that his ponytail was incongruous, but she liked him almost instantly anyway.

The blonde girl sitting beside him spoke up. "Dad plans to go back to the farm."

"If there's a farm left," Abraham said darkly.

The dark haired woman on the other side of him rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Can't be worse than hiking all the way to DC with you."

Sinclaire stood up. "I think I'm going to head out."

"What the hell ya mean, yer gonna head out?" Daryl asked.

"Exactly what I said." She crossed her arms when everyone looked at her. "I'm going to go back to the bar, see if there's anything left. We need that box truck; it's got all of our supplies."

"I'll go with you to pick it up," Rick said, standing up as well.

"And after that," she said. "I'm going to Woodbury to get Merle."

A/N: I know it's a little short, but the flu nearly killed me, you guys. I mean, I think I saw a bright light and everything. But I knew I couldn't go toward it until I finished this story, so here's the latest chapter and I hope you enjoy! I should have another one sometime in the next few weeks and I'm kind of in the process of wrapping it up, I think. Unless I get some new sparks of brilliance, that is :) Meanwhile, if you're into Supernatural, I'm writing one of those so you can check that out (I think maybe I've already mentioned that, now that I think of it, so please ignore my self promoting if I have)


	60. Chapter 60

"What the hell?" Daryl yelled as Sinclaire and Rick approached the gates. He'd clearly had a harder time getting out of the breakfast room than she had, because he was nearly running.

"What what hell?" Sinclaire asked, readjusting Zeke's precarious perch on her shoulder. The little cat had handled everything so far remarkably well. He'd only left a few scratches on Daryl's chest after their unexpected dip the day before.

"What?" Daryl repeated.

Sinclaire sighed and tapped her foot. Daryl stared at her.

"Did you want to come too?" Rick asked, mainly to keep them from swinging on each other.

"Well, wouldn't ya think?" Daryl snapped.

"You're not going to Woodbury, Bowhunter," Sinclaire said flatly.

"The hell ya say! And don't ya try to soften me up with that nickname bullshit, either!"

By now a few others had come out to watch the fight. Marie was chewing her nails.

"Listen, whatever we might or might not be, ya ain't in charge of what I do with my own damn life!" Daryl shouted.

Sinclaire crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"If I wanna go and look fer my own brother then, goddamnit, I'm gonna go and look fer my own brother!"

Sinclaire sighed.

"Ya don't get to-" Daryl stopped suddenly and gave her a look of pure, squinty aggravation. "Fuckin' hell, ain't ya gonna say nothin'?"

"When the student is ready, the teacher appears," Sinclaire said serenely. "I'm pretty sure that we both know how hard it's going to be to find Merle in crazy town without someone getting their ass handed to them. I'd rather not have to face Merle's wrath if I'm the one who gets his baby brother killed." Her gaze softened for a split second as she looked at Daryl. "And I really don't want you to die, anyway."

"I ain't gonna die," he said firmly.

"Sure, because you're not going to go." When he took a breath, clearly prepared to argue the point, she held up her hand. "At least not with me."

"Why not?"

"Because Sinclaire's got a better chance on her own," Marie said from beside him. She'd edged closer during the yelling.

"How ya figure that?" Daryl demanded.

Marie's face tightened, but she kept her chin up. "He's...got a thing about strong women. He likes them. If she plays it right, she'll get right in."

Sinclaire felt a chill race along every nerve in her body, but she only said, "See?"

"Hang on just a second," Nate said from the rapidly growing sidelines. "Don't you think that this is something we should talk about together?"

"Fuck off," Daryl said succinctly.

"Recon is kind of what I do," Nate said through clenched teeth. "And it's not just your people that went with that psycho. Carrie's been with me for a long time and I want to see that she gets back alive."

Sinclaire was regretting her need to make an announcement. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath to speak.

"Makes sense," Rick said before she could say anything.

"What?" she demanded.

"It makes sense," Rick said again. "I know how much you want Merle, but-"

"I don't want him," Sinclaire cut in. When everyone stared at her she realized how childish the denial had been. Of course I like him, but I don't _like him_, like him, would be the next thing out of her mouth if she wasn't careful. "It's about more than Merle," she said instead.

"And she still has a better chance of getting in on her own," Marie said. "He's crazy, but he's not stupid."

"No one is saying that she shouldn't go on her own," Nate said.

"I been pretty goddamn clear on how she shouldn't go on her own," Daryl snarled.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to sit down and talk this out?" Herschel asked. "Or do you want to keep yelling at each other in the street?"

"Sorry," Marie muttered. No one else spoke, but everyone looked slightly guilty.

"All right," Sinclaire said, giving in. "We'll go back to the house."

She wasn't surprised when everyone from Herschel and his daughters, to Abraham and his merry band followed them in. Rick looked annoyed, but he didn't say anything. It wasn't like what they were doing was top secret anyhow.

"Now," Nate said, taking charge once everyone had settled in. "The mission is rescuing Carrie, Glenn, and Merle from this Governor guy, right?"

"No shit," Daryl snapped.

Sinclaire punched him on the arm. Not as hard as she could have, but it wasn't a love tap either. He gave her a dirty look and edged over toward Marie. Everyone began talking at once, eager to have their plans heard. Abraham wanted to know who was going to be going with his group. Herschel's youngest daughter invited them all to stay where they were until they could get back to the farm, where they could live easily since it was all set up. Carl and Rick began to argue about where Carl was going to go.

"So what you're thinking is that I can get in and get information to you?" Sinclaire asked.

Nate looked relieved not to have to explain it over the dozens of half assed plans currently being voiced and argued over. "Yes. We'd take a small group and camp out in a relatively safe location-"

"So, I'm stuck campin'?" Daryl asked.

"Nobody said you get to go," Nate pointed out.

"Just fuckin' try and stop me!"

"So you _do_ want to camp?"

Daryl stood up, ready to wipe the smug look off of Nate's face, but Sinclaire grabbed his belt and yanked him back down to the couch.

"Look, you're not the only one who has a problem with this," Rick said in a tight voice. "You think I want to waste a week before I get my hands on this guy?" The Governor had seen Rick and seeing him again would blow any potential for cover sky high. Sinclaire knew that a week of forced waiting was going to wear on Rick, but there was nothing she could do.

Daryl opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard, and said, "All right." It didn't sound exactly gracious, but it was more than they would have gotten from the Daryl of a year ago and they all knew it.

"Does anyone have a map?" Sinclaire asked.

Eugene pulled one from his back pocket and spread it out on the coffee table. Marie pointed out the route to Woodbury and told them a little bit about the surrounding area. She didn't remember too many details, but it was enough to form a rough plan.

Sinclaire, Rick, and Daryl would go and retrieve the box truck from whatever was left of the bar. Sinclaire would then go on to Woodbury alone. In exactly one week, she would meet them to make a new plan. She wanted to plan for overthrowing the Governor, but she also wasn't stupid. They had no idea how many people would be on his side, or what kind of weaponry he might have in the town. As Nate said, a rescue might be the best they could hope for.

Abraham wouldn't let them borrow the truck he'd been fixing all winter, but he did agree to drive them back to the bar. Seeing the blackened, falling down, half frame skeleton of what had been her home for the last few months felt like a punch in the gut, but she slid out of the truck without comment.

"Still here," Daryl said, walking over to the box truck and opening the back cautiously. Nothing jumped out at him, so he got in and checked the contents. "Nothin' even got messed up."

Sinclaire sat down on the edge of the truck bed and watched Rick look around. She knew what he was looking for, but she didn't see any remains of Lori's body. She didn't know if that was good or bad. At least they'd been able to give Shane and Tiffany a burial. Lori was just...gone.

Zeke curled up in the warm sun spilling into the back of the truck and began to purr. She scratched his ears and the purr deepened. She wondered if she should take him to Woodbury with her. She wondered how she would do without his comforting little form if she didn't.

Daryl finished rummaging through their supplies and then sat down beside Sinclaire.

"Don't like ya goin' off on yer own."

Sinclaire didn't either, honestly. "You know it makes sense. I'll travel faster, I'll get right in-"

"Yeah, and then what? Ya gonna pimp yerself out to get Merle back? How ya think he'd feel about that?"

"I don't care how that idiot feels," Sinclaire snapped. "He said crazy things and threw me off of a cliff and I'm going to get him back and...and..." She broke off and squared her shoulders. "Tell him how rude that was."

"Sure, 'cause he's motivated by manners."

Sinclaire smiled.

"What'd he say that was crazy?"

"What?"

"Ya said he said crazy stuff and then threw ya over the cliff."

"Oh. It was...personal stuff."

"Givin' ya a hard time?"

Sinclaire had no idea how Merle had meant for her to feel about what he'd said, so she only shrugged. "I don't know. I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure ya don't want me to go with ya?"

"You can't."

"Fuck yeah I can."

"But it doesn't make sense."

"Never said it did."

Sinclaire couldn't hold back a laugh at that. A half a seconds' worth of a grin broke over Daryl's face too.

"He's my brother," he said after a long moment. "And I'm just sittin' here."

Sinclaire put her hand on his shoulder. "I know. I'm not going to come back without him. Trust me, Daryl."

He frowned and pushed his hands through his shaggy hair. "Shit, I don't like this."

She nodded. "I know."

"Ya'll about ready?" Abraham asked.

Rick walked over from examining the burnt out bar. "Yeah, I am. Sinclaire, do you have everything you needed?"

She'd forgotten that she was supposed to be packing, but she didn't take long in packing up one of the military backpacks she'd stowed in the box truck. There wasn't much she needed, and there wasn't much she could take anyway. She was planning to play the "lone survivor" card to the Governor.

"Okay, I'm good," she was beginning when they all heard the crunch of gravel.

"What the fuck?" Abraham demanded.

"I don't know," Sinclaire snapped. "They weren't courteous enough to give us a call before they dropped by!"

"Get in the truck," Rick said quickly. "Get that door down, now!"

As Sinclaire pulled down the door, Daryl moved to the front seat, but Rick grabbed him and yanked him down.

"Don't be an idiot," he hissed.

Daryl made a face at Rick, but he stayed still. They all tried not to breathe too loudly as they listened intently.

"Do you think he got them all?"

It was a man's voice and Sinclaire caught her breath when she recognized it.

"I don't know!" A woman answered, sounding furious and worried. "I don't know what else to do, or where to look and-"

Rick slid the door of the truck up again. "Hey, Andrea. Dale? You doing all right?"

The older man's face was pale and his shirt was bloody, but a grin lit him up as they stepped out of the truck. "You're alive!"

"Is this all that's left?"

"Son of a bitch, if it ain't the preacher man," Daryl said. "We'd been wonderin' what the hell happened to ya."

"I..." the man trailed off, looking embarrassed. "I was in the car."

"Thought ya'll soldiers of God were supposed to brave," Daryl said.

"I think it's the meek that are supposed to inherit, isn't it?" Sinclaire asked. She didn't have any great love for the preacher, but he'd never claimed to be a fighter anyway, so she didn't have a bone to pick with him. Daryl glared at her and she gave him a sunny smile.

"No," Rick said, answering the original question. "Carol, Nate, Sophia, and Carl are safe too." He indicated Abraham. "We met up with this man and his group and found some shelter."

Andrea looked at the group. "So, Glenn, Lori, Carrie, and Merle are..."

"Lori..." Rick began and then stopped.

"Lori didn't make it," Sinclaire finished for him. "The Governor took Carrie and Glenn. Merle..." _Merle was a big damn hero and now I don't know where he is_, she finished to herself.

"Merle saved my life," Rick filled in. "We'll tell you the rest tonight. If you're coming back with us, that is." He split an inquiring look between Andrea and Abraham.

Andrea nodded. Abraham looked at Dale's wound.

"What's the matter with him?" he asked bluntly.

"Gunshot wound," Andrea said in a brisk tone that implied that Abraham needed to watch his step. "I cleaned it out when we got away. It was pretty much through and through and I don't think we'll have any problems with it."

"We got a sort of doctor back where I'm camping," Abraham said. "He checks you out and says you're clean and I guess it ain't a big deal if you stay."

"Losin' daylight," Daryl said abruptly. "If yer gonna go, I guess ya better go."

Sinclaire glanced at the sky and saw that it was well past noon. "You're right. I guess this is goodbye, then." She held out her hand for him to shake.

"Don't be stupid." He pulled her into his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder, tightening her arms around him. He spoke quietly. "Didn't mean it about the nickname. It don't bother me."

"I'll remember that." She hugged him a little bit tighter and whispered. "And, seriously, get on it with Marie. Speaking as a damaged woman, you're awfully good at recuperation sex."

"That a compliment?"

"Yep."

"Well, I'll have to see about it." He let her go. "Hurry up and get my idiot brother back home. See ya in a week."

She nodded and hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders. She made sure her gun was loaded and then tipped her Army cap to the group before she headed off down the road. Sinclaire was pretty sure that this was going to be her last mission, but if it meant that she got to smack Merle a good one before she died, it was worth it.


End file.
